Colonization of Kalimdor
by Lord22
Summary: Thrall has led the horde across the sea to Kalimdor as instructed by the mysterious prophet. Yet many dangers await them there, and for all his efforts to escape senseless conflict he is now surrounded by it. Can Thrall turn his people from the path of bloodlust? Or will they be doomed to walk in the old ways for all time. The second installment of the Mercyverse.
1. Landfall

**Chapter One: Landfall**

Thunder roared, the winds howled. The sails were torn, and the vessels of the horde tossed and turned upon the waves. The Maelstrom dragged at the ships, seeking to draw them into oblivion.

Warchief Thrall stood at the prow, his eyes closed. Several of the orcs had been lost at sea in the endless turmoil. Others had despaired of ever reaching land and leaped into the deep. The churning depths were below them, drawing ever nearer. Rocks could be seen near the center, jutting out of the sea.

But Thrall beseeched the spirits of the wind. And his cries were answered. Great gusts shot down and blew their ships away, and the ships of the Horde scattered with the winds. They drifted for a time before finally crashing upon the rocks on a distant shore.

Here the orcs worked to unload what supplies remained to them. Thrall sat upon his wolf mount, giving orders. Weapons and foodstuffs were carried out by noncombatants. And all the time the lower reaches of the ship creaked and groaned. When they had finished, they stood there on the barren shore, breathing for a long, long time. Exhausted and weary, yet on land at last.

* * *

He had followed the mysterious prophet's instructions. Thrall had led the Horde across the Great Sea. Thrall wondered what unseen dangers lurked within the crags of the desolate land.

Kalimdor, if indeed this war Kalimdor, was a barren, sweltering realm. The bay was filled with sharp rocks. The sky was pale blue, and the sun beat down on them in an endless rain of light. Sweat dripped from their skin as they discussed what to do next. Thrall remained silent, contemplating recent events. The ship was broken and snapped, its timbers strained and splintered. When he had last had a look at the inside water was pouring in. A warrior, Burx, approached him.

'Warchief, our ship sustained heavy damage when we passed through the raging maelstrom.' He paused, about to say what they all knew. 'It's unsalvageable.'

Thrall sighed. 'I knew it.' He had hoped to scour the coast for a suitable landing spot with the whole fleet, so much for that idea. 'Can we confirm our location? Is this Kalimdor?'

'We traveled due west as you instructed.' said Burx. 'This should be it.'

'Very well.' said Thrall. 'Has there been any sign of Grom Hellscream or the other ships?'

'No Warchief,' replied Burx, 'not since we got separated.'

'Prepare to move out!' called Thrall. 'If our comrades did make it here, we should be able to find them along the coast.'

The orcs and trolls made their way onward through the blistering heat. They tried to keep the shade provided by the indigenous trees. Even so, it was unpleasant to labor beneath the beating sun.

As they headed north, past the trees they came to a force of Murlocs, standing over some freshly hewn corpses. The bodies were those of strange, humanoid, pig creatures. The murlocs looked up, eyes gleaming and Thrall called his warriors to a halt.

'Damn it,' said Thrall, 'we'll try and go around. I'd rather not make enemies as soon as we land here.'

'Warchief,' said Burx, 'there are many of our woman and children with us, and we have run low on water. We cannot risk them. We must fight.'

'…Very well,' said Thrall, 'we warriors will move forward to face them. We will fight to hold a position here until our waterskins are refilled. If the murlocs attack us, we will defend ourselves. Otherwise, I don't want any unnecessary combat.'

The orcs and trolls obeyed. The murlocs eyed the large number of greenskins suspiciously. They seemed to be speaking with one another about how to deal with the matter. They readied themselves for battle but did not attack.

So the stalemate continued. Finally, Burx came to him. 'Warchief, we've gotten all the water we can and drunk all our stomachs can hold. If we're not going to fight we should press on.'

'Very well,' said Thrall, 'move out!'

So they traveled onward for a day. When the sun was setting, they came to a village. Or what was left of one. The houses were aflame. Many corpses littered the ground. They were of humanoid cowmen whose species Thrall did not know. Although there were also many of the pig men.

Burx kneeled by him. 'A great battle took place here. The clay is red with fresh blood.'

'Is there nothing in this land but death and carnage?' asked Thrall in exhaustion. It seemed that no matter where one went, blood was spilled without mercy or forgiveness. 'Come, let us head north and see if we can locate our brethren.'

They traveled north into a place with many trees on all sides. The shade was a welcome change, and they continued in better spirits for a time. Then they rounded a bend and found themselves staring at a melee. A group of warriors with the heads of cows were surrounded on all sides by creatures with the bodies of horses. There was a vicious combat taking place.

'Those hideous creatures have the bodies of horses…' said Thrall, rousing himself. 'Lok'tar Ogar!'

The warriors surged forward to the rescue, yet even as they did so, the cowmen were cut to piece. The horsemen looked at the size of Thrall's army and immediately drew back. They were too fast to overtake.

Thrall halted. 'Let's move on.' he said. 'They may have friends nearby.'

They journeyed east beyond the range of the trees. However, they saw no sign of the horsemen. The orcs halted here for a time, and drank and ate from their supplies.

'Warchief,' said Burx, 'we're all with you master. Yet why did we not pursue those horsemen? We could have slaughtered them.'

'Our race fell,' said Thrall, 'because we allowed our bloodlust to cloud out everything that made us noble. I shall not see us fall into such a state again.

'Besides, the horsemen may have had forces nearby. We do not know this land yet, and I do not want to take sides in this conflict.'

'As you say, Warchief.' said Burx, but it was not over.

Thrall knew that sooner or later, he would be forced to compromise his principles. Or he would lose control of the horde. It was unavoidable. Yet that day was not today. He led them northeast, making his way through an area greener and cooler than the others. The shade from the trees made travel more bearable, and they tried to stick to those areas.

Eventually, they halted as they came across a village filled with anthropomorphic pigs. They carried maces, and staffs and spears and were hustled around a campfire. Many of their children were taking shelter in tents. They had not seen them yet.

'Those pig creatures are unlike anything I've ever seen before.' noted Thrall.

'At least they're prettier than the humans,' said Burx.

'Let's backtrack.' said Thrall. 'We may find a path around them.'

'It would be far simpler just to kill them.' muttered Burx, but he relented.

Making their way back, they tried a pass which led on a direct path to the pig creatures. He found a secluded beach, which led around the pig men's location. It was sheltered by a high cliff, and so the horde was able to pass undetected by the pig men's camp. Then they came across a wreck that looked very much like the ships they had brought from Lordaeron.

The warriors searched it for any survivors. After a few minutes, they returned. 'Chieftan, this wreck has been abandoned for quite some time. Perhaps the crew has survived and is around here someplace.'

'We'll search for them.' agreed Thrall.

They made their way off the beach, and into a vast open plain. To the east was a line of trees, while to the south Thrall saw a village of pig men. Within their camp, he saw an enclosure and knew that that place was where the crew must have been taken. He did not dare risk telling his warriors to rush in and save them without killing anyone again. To do so would risk mutiny. It would be better to do it in a manner which was impressive and could make a good story.

'I will free our comrades on my own.' said Thrall, before urging his wolf, Snowsong into a full run, and rushing into the village. He raced past the pig men, who launched arrows at him, yet to no avail. He reached the enclosure and found some trolls tied to posts. Dismounting, he removed a knife and slashed their bonds.

'Free your comrades, we must escape this place!' He said.

There was Vol'jin. The elderly troll shook off his ropes and went to help the others. 'Thanks for saving us, mon.' he said.

The trolls worked quickly. But not quickly enough. Thrall raised his hammer and summoned the spirits. A bolt of lightning shot forward and tore through many of the ropes in moments. There were only a few warriors amongst these trolls, and many woman and children.

'We must escape this place quickly!' said Thrall. 'Run!'

They rushed out of the enclosure just in time to avoid the pig men cutting them off at the entrance. Thrall knocked down several pig men as the troll noncombatants fled north. As the pig men rushed at them, Thrall slammed the ground with his hammer.

The ground shook, and the pig men fell over. Thrall and his warriors escaped.

'We should hurry,' said the troll, 'the pig men say there were other ships nearby!'

They raced out of the village and met their people waiting for them in a great crowd. 'Quickly, get everyone together!' called Thrall. 'We head east!'

As they fled they saw the pig men come after them with spears and clubs. But they gave up the chase soon enough. After a time, they gave up the hunt. Soon they came to another village.

Here there were many cowmen dead. And there were the hooves of horsemen everywhere. It was obvious what was happening.

'The horsemen are slaughtering those bull creatures,' realized Thrall in resignation. 'I brought us here to escape senseless conflict. Not, it seems, we're surrounded by it.'

They traveled to the northeast. As they did, they ran into a column of orcs and trolls. The two groups ran forward to meet one another.

'Throm-Ka Warchief.' their leader hailed him. 'We knew you'd find us!'

'Throm-Ka, warrior. I'm glad your all safe.' said Thrall. 'Were you part of Hellscream's group?' There were two factions e in the new Horde, those loyal to Thrall, and those loyal to Hellscream.

'No Warchief,' said the warrior, 'We were separated in the storm. We only just arrived.' Evidently, he had misinterpreted Thrall's meaning. Oh well, so much the better. They made their way north. On their march saw packs of massive green lizards, who wandered here and there. Burx looked at them with interest. 'We're not fighting them.' He said 'Lets press on west a ways.'

The warriors looked disappointed. Thrall didn't care.

As they went, they came to a place where many pig men were doing battle with more bull men. 'Keep moving.' said Thrall. 'I want to be away from here by the time they finish.' His words sounded hollow, even to him, and yet press forward they did.

As they marched onward, several of the pig men hurled spears at them. But none found their mark, and the orcs slipped away. Yet soon the ground began to shake beneath their feet. Thrall came to a place overlooking a vast army of horsemen riding in vast numbers across the plains. 'Those horsemen look as though their dressed for war.' He noted, Yet they were beyond his reach, and there was nothing he could do about it. 'Come, warriors, let us press further east.'

So far, despite all their escapes and near deaths, not a single member of Thrall's now far larger forces had died. Even Thrall was amazed at this, though he noted that some had been injured. Thrall was determined to keep it that way for as long as possible. There would come a day where he would set aside his pacifism, and fight in an honorable battle for a just cause. Yet that time was not yet here.

His resolve was tested soon. On a hill, they saw a pool around which the spirits were plentiful. Anyone who drank from such a fountain would be healed, he could sense it. There was a tribe of pig men around it. As they tried to approach hurled projectiles, determined to keep it all to themselves.

Morale began to falter, and Thrall realized he would have to find a worthy battle soon. His mouth was dry, and he drank from a canteen to quench it. There was hardly any left. Then he continued onwards, leading his forces along the shore to the southwest. They went north, but many murlocs had taken up residence in the waters there. So they were unable to refill their water supply and had to press on.

'Warchief, we cannot continue like this!' cried Burx. 'We must fight soon, or we will die!'

'Just a little longer.' Thrall assured him. 'Soon we will find a worthy conflict.' And he reflected that soon would have to be very soon, as he led them further along the shore. To have access to such vast amounts of water, and yet be unable to drink of it was torture. East they found only grassy cliffs, which were impassable. So they headed south, always south.

Eventually, they came across a group of their warriors, who greeted them.

'Throm-Ka Warchief,' said the warrior.

'Well met, warrior.' said Thrall, forgetting to use orcish. 'has there been any sign of-'

'The horsemen are charging!' cried Vol'jin. 'Defend yourselves!'

If ever there was a time for battle, it was now. 'Lok'tar! Lok'tar!' cried Thrall as he led his forces against the horsemen.

There was a vicious battle that ensued. The orcs and trolls were thirsty and tired from endless marching. But the mere prospect of battle washed away all of it. Thrall smashed the skull of a horseman with his hammer. Burx cut the legs from under another, as jungle trolls hurled spears which impaled many more. Arrows were shot from bows by the horsemen, and several trolls fell. Some warriors were cut down by their the orcs fought with greater skill. After more than half their number had been killed the horsemen fled.

From the nearby forest emerged a great, white-haired bull man. He held a huge halberd and was clad in leather armor. His eyes were old, and filled with resolved sorrow, and his face was careworn.

'I am Cairne, Chief of the Bloodhoof Tauren.' he said in an old voice. 'You green skins fight with both savagery and valor. I am intrigued.'

'I am Thrall,' replied the Warchief, 'and these are my brethren, the orcs. We've come seeking the destiny promised to us.'

'Seeking destiny?' said Cairne, kindly amusement in his tone as he planted his halberd in the dirt. 'Hmm, it will find you in time, young one. However, there is an Oracle far to the north who may be able to-'

'North?' asked Thrall. 'But there is an army of the horsemen marching north.'

'What?!' said Cairne, horror in his tone. 'No! My village is in danger!'

Then without any further words, he and his warriors turned and began rushing away. Thrall remained still for a moment. 'I must know more about this Oracle!' He said after a moment. 'Follow them! Protect Cairne all costs!'

It was the essence of simplicity to catch up with Cairne. He and his warriors moved with slow steps which the orcs easily outpaced. They kept pace with Cairne and his warriors and soon came to a series of totems placed in the sand on a cliff. It seemed that these marked the entrance to his village.

As Thrall and his forces advanced in front of Cairne, he found a force of tauren waiting around. A few were wounded as if from recent battle. The orcish noncombatants took shelter behind in the village. Thrall and his warriors took up positions in the front. Before they could fully prepare, however, a host of centaurs rushed forward as if from nowhere. Several tauren fell before they could go to their aid. Then the orcs and jungle trolls were fighting brutally.

Then Cairne waded into battle.

'We've arrived in time!' said Cairne. 'The next wave is advancing!'

And at this moment, Thrall knew beyond a doubt that the time had come. 'Forward my warriors! This is the honorable battle we have awaited! Drive these horsemen before you! Show them the power of the Horde!' And he sent a bolt of chain lightning through the front rank of the horsemen, slaying many.

The warriors roared in triumph and charged forward to meet the horsemen in battle. Axes hewed, and spears were hurled with deadly accuracy. After a gruesome few minutes of fighting, the horsemen retreated.

Yet more were riding towards them in the distance. Their hooves were echoing across the plains. 'Lok'narash!' cried Thrall. 'Here they come again!'

A wave of spears surged through the air, and slew a line of horsemen. The warriors charged side by side with the tauren. Once again, the battle was joined, and blood stained the red earth. Some orc warriors were hacked down in the fighting. Yet the casualties were far worse for the horsemen, who died to the man in the battle. It seemed that the orcs and tauren made a formidable team.

Even so, Thrall used the few moments between now and the next wave to contemplate the tragedy of war. Looking at the face of a fallen horsemen youth, he wondered what his name was. Had he been evil-minded and bloodthirsty? Or a young warrior seeking to prove himself? Had he chosen to join this battle, or been forced?

The next wave was led by a massive horseman who wielded a huge axe. He rushed towards them, bellowing cries to his comrades. A force of grim horsemen with many scars rode with him.

'Ah, they've brought a champion with them this time!' proclaimed Cairne, who seemed to be enjoying himself now that victory was possible.

Thrall's warriors and the tauren rushed to meet the champion in battle. The screams of the dying now filled the air. Even as the press of battle seemed to turn against the champion, a force of centaurs attacked them from the rear. Several dozen trolls were cut down by their attack before they recovered. The Horde turned to fight back.

On it went. Until at last the champion was slain by Cairne. For a few moments, the centaur fought on. Then they broke and fled. The victory was theirs.

But at the cost of many lives.

The dead were buried by the customs of their races. For a time there was a mournful silence. Thrall had always known that glory on the battlefield was not without cost. Yet it was now that he recognized most why he despised violence. Every man who fell upon the field of battle today had a mother, and a father. They had sisters and brothers. the tauren and orcs and trolls were not the only people mourning their losses. So too were the centaurs.

Yet not the pig men. Not one of them had died by an orcs hand. And that gave Thrall strength. He approached Cairne, as the old tauren looked out into space, his eyes distant. 'Your tribe is safe, old one.' He said at last.

'Thanks to you, young warchief.' replied Cairne 'But the centaur drove off all the game in this region, and I cannot allow my people to starve. Soon we must head north, to the verdant grasslands of Mulgore.' His tone had a note of worry within it.

'And you fear the marauders will overtake you?' guessed Thrall.

'Yes,' said Cairne grimly. 'the devil's speed cannot be matched upon the plains.'

'Well, if you tell us how to reach the Oracle you spoke of, then my brethren and I will escort you on your march.' Offered Thrall, meaning it with all his heart. So long as the battles he fought were fought protecting the tauren, the deaths would have meaning.

'I am intrigued by you and your people, young Thrall. You are more than welcome to join us.' replied Cairne, sounding quite happy about the fact.

* * *

The human expedition to Kalimdor landed without incident upon a green island. It was a little east of the mainland. It was the many palm trees which attracted them. They found fresh fruits upon the trees which were delicious to taste. The sun shone little hotter than Jaina would have liked, however.

Jaina's top clung to her voluptuous form a bit more than usual. She wiped away droplets of sweat from her golden hair and pulled off her hood to survey the scene below. The movement sent her chest bouncing alluringly.

From the hilltop she had teleported to she could see her people. They were making their way off the vessels they had come here in. They ships were in perfect condition and could be used later for all manner of things. War, or better yet, exploration. No one had died on the weeks-long journey. Now they were unloading their supplies and equipment onto the island. The soldiers Jaina had brought with her stood guard over them with guns and swords. When all had been completed to Jaina's satisfaction, she made her way down to camp.

There she was approached by several admirers.

'That was amazing, Lady Jaina!' said Sergeant Lorena.

'I know!' said the Captain of the Footmen. 'No one believed that someone could get through the Maelstrom without losing a ship! And without a single man lost! My helm is off to you lady.'

Jaina was pleased by the praise, though she would never admit. 'Well I'm not the Princess of Kul'tiras for nothing,' said Jaina. 'when I was a girl my Father had me memorized all sorts of thing about ships and weather and how they mixed. I was using one of my Fathers theories, I can't wait to tell him it worked.' Her voice became grim. 'Though that might take awhile. At any rate, our priority is to begin setting up proper shelters and begin planting farms. Its late in the growing season, so we'd best get to work right away.'

The process took awhile. During it, the colonists worked hard. They upturned dirt to create a vegetable bed. They planted seeds and erected shelters. Tools were unloaded and put into work. Tropical trees were felled for lumber. A storehouse was raised to keep raw materials within. Not all was perfect, however, for a number of the soldiers who had come with them were reluctant to work.

'We're warriors!' they objected. 'Why should we do farming. We came here for adventure.'

'We're in this for the long hall.' replied Jaina with a demure smile. 'He who does not work does not eat.' That got them out of their slothful tendencies. Jaina kept everyone on the smallest rations that were healthy. She meant to make her supplies last.

Throughout the next week, they had begun to construct a full town. Some had even begun to pave the streets. The farms were finished, and the everyday sort of magic which let them produce so quickly was made.

However, Jaina was not so confident that she let defense slacken. At any given time she kept a detachment of footmen and riflemen ready for battle. She sent the ships to scout the area surrounding the island, and find the mainland. There they encountered a marshy area, and her scouts reported that beyond it lay a dusty, barren land.

'What shall we name the marsh, lady?' asked Lorena.

'Dustwallow.' said Jaina, preoccupied with reading.

'And the barren land?' Lorena pressed her.

'The barrens,' replied Jaina, turning a page.

'That is… original.' Lorena said. 'What of the island?'

'Theramore,' Jaina said absently.

'Why Theramore?' He asked.

'Whose the intrepid explorer here?' asked Jaina, glancing up from her book.

At that moment there came a clamor, and a clash of arms. Jaina looked up and saw that a force of murlocs had come out of the waters and were attacking the camp. Peasants fled in terror, as the footmen and riflemen rushed forward to meet them. Several murlocs were gunned down in the charge, as the footmen met the creatures in melee. A footman was wounded and forced to be dragged from the fray by his friends. A murloc had his skull cleaved by a blade. A vast force of murlocs was coming out of the shallows now. Jaina sighed and raised her staff from where she was sitting.

A rain of ice descended upon them and tore the creatures apart as they charged. Those that remained fled. The footmen and riflemen cheered in enthusiasm. No one had been killed, and they had been itching for some action.

'Don't celebrate yet,' said Jaina, standing and making her way down the hill, 'murlocs live in the shallows. Their headed north, which means that is where we'll find their encampment.' She paused and sighed. 'I hate resorting to violence, but we'll have to wipe them out. We need this entire island if we're to house everyone.'

The troupe headed north towards the merloc's village. They descended into the shallows, guns, and swords readied. The murlocs put up stiff resistance. But they were smaller and not numerous enough to make up the difference. Gunshots pierced their scaly hides, as swords cleaved their skulls. Jaina summoned a water elemental, whose powers sent waves of power to crush the murlocs. Several of the footmen were caught in nets and surrounded. Yet priests healed their wounds, and their comrades came to their aid.

After a few more minutes of battle, the murlocs were all dead or had fled into the sea.

'Well done everyone,' said Jaina with a smile, 'but we'll have to burn down their houses. Otherwise, more of them will return and take up residence here.' The men looked a bit reluctant to do this. 'It's a regrettable necessity, but that's colonization for you. Don't worry murlocs do not have children. See, they lay their eggs under the sea. When they hatched after a brief time they become tadpoles. Those eventually grow into full murlocs which get larger over time.'

'Yes milady,' said the footmen, sounding a bit disturbed for some reason Jaina didn't understand.

Torches were lit and set to the village's structures. They were soon consumed in flames and fell into broken bits as Jaina watched the whole thing. After all of it was done, Jaina stretched. 'Well, that was a success, good job everyone. We'd better head back to camp. Extra rations by the way!'

There were a number of other murloc raids, of course. The creatures did not give up easily. Each time they attacked, Jaina would let one or two live so that they could follow them back to their encampment. There they wiped out the murlocs completely and torched their villages. All in all, Jaina's people torched five murloc villages. At last, there wasn't a single murloc village left on Theramore Isle. The survivors fled into the sea in terror.

Satisfied that the colony was secure for now, Jaina began making plans to head further inland. She had to find the Prophet…

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Anyway, I just edited this chapter. It was a real mess with a lot of gameplay elements. I tried to edit it to make more sense from an in-universe perspective. While I was doing that I altered Thrall's dialogue to try and make him more in character. I also gave the random warrior Thrall keeps talking to a name,


	2. Exploration

**Chapter Two: Exploration**

The green skinned orcs had hit Kalimdor like a hammer. They had crossed all along the shore, moving from village to village, outpost to outpost.

Messengers went back and forth between the quillboar villages. They had a new enemy, which all their warriors had been insufficient to stop. Panic nearly overtook the quillboars.

Charlga Razorflank had called a meeting of all the great quillboar chieftains. Even now they stood in the shadow of a great thornbush.

'The question,' said Charlga, 'is what to do about this Horde?'

'Our offensive against the tauren is finished.' said Warlord Ramtusk. 'Most of them have withdrawn with the orcs. The greenskins have gone out of their way to avoid fighting us. They avoid combat, even when we take their people captive. Aside from a few bruises, we have suffered no losses.'

'I'm beginning to think that this Horde doesn't understand how this whole war thing works.' said Charlga. 'Perhaps we should send messengers explaining the process to them.'

'They do know.' said Hunter Bonetusk. 'I have returned from watching them. They have allied with our enemies, the tauren. Together they have destroyed a great force of centaur and driven them back. Now they are heading toward Mulgore with them.'

'That is great news.' said Charlga. 'With the tauren and the orcs leaving they will surely bring destruction to the centaur. Are there any tauren holdouts?'

'No.' said Bonetusk. 'All are moving on.'

'Then we have conquered this region without throwing a spear.' said Ramtusk. 'A shame. I was looking forward to fighting an army of centaurs as well. Still, I supposed peace and security would have to do in place of endless bloodshed.'

'It will do well.' said Charlga.

* * *

Duskwallow Marsh had been an… interesting experience to travel through. Jaina and a new wave of colonists had landed on the shores and ventured into the twisting marshes. They planned to find a suitable place to settle. Their secondary objective was finding the Prophet who had sparked this expedition.

'Loreena,' said Jaina, 'how is the exploration going?'

'Well, milady.' said Loreena. 'Though there isn't a lot of coordination between groups. There have been some disagreements over who has authority over the colonies.'

'What kind of disagreement?' asked Jaina.

'Well the Gilneans aren't happy at all.' said Loreena. 'It turns out Graymane overthrew Darius and declared them exiled. Some of them blame you for the situation. The ones from Lordaeron are split over whether they owe fealty to you or King Terenas.

'Some of them want to be ruled over by someone from Lordaeron.'

'Meanwhile, the troops from Kul'tiras are all loyal to Father.' said Jaina. 'What about Thoras Trollbane's expedition?'

'Thoras Trollbane's colonists say they will cooperate with you for mutual protection. But they won't take your orders.' said Loreena. 'To be blunt, there doesn't seem to be any agreement over who is in charge here.'

'It probably would have been better if I'd married Arthas.' reflected Jaina. 'He'd be able to rally all of them. What about the dwarves and elves?'

'They've aligned themselves with whoever will bring them riches and glory.' said Loreena. 'Most of them are adventurers, not colonists. To be blunt, Lady Jaina, they don't respect you enough to take your orders.'

'Well that is why we're here.' said Jaina. 'To earn respect.' She looked back to her forces. 'We'll go on ahead of the main group. That will silence anyway saying I'm soft.'

Thus it was Jaina and her men who first experienced the perils of Duskwallow Marsh. One could not see very far ahead, and it was difficult to find any sign of the wildlife before you were right on top of them. There was an oozy smell, and often the ground was soft and wet underfoot.

'This isn't at all ideal land for colonization.' said Jaina. 'I hope it isn't all like this.'

'Lady Jaina!' said Loreena. 'Look out!'

Jaina halted. Then she almost yelled aloud. Before her was a huge snake which was coiled around a tree. She'd almost walked right up to it. She stepped back a few paces. 'At the very least trees are plentiful.' said Jaina. 'This might be a good place to gain lumber from if we can tame the area.' Might being the key word.

Then there was a scream. Jaina looked up to see reptiles leaping toward the men. They had huge blades, and one of the footmen had his throat slashed. The creature dragged the carcass away. After one of them lost their head to a sword, the other creatures pulled back as well. But someone fired a gun and caught one in the head.

It fell still on the ground.

'What are those things?' asked a footman.

'Raptors.' said Jaina quickly, coming up with the name on the spot.

'Well I'll be hunting more of them.' said a dwarf. 'Me lads and I will clear out these beasties right quick.'

'No you won't.' said Jaina. 'We don't know the ground. Until we do, we should stick together.'

Then there was a scream. Jain made her way to the river to find that one of the footmen had been ambushed while getting water. He was struggling against something they couldn't see. Riflemen fired into the water, but they must have missed. The man was pulled down by something they could not see. Blood stained the water where he had been red, and several long bodied reptiles made their way away from it.

'Crocodiles,' said Jaina in realization, 'be careful if you see a log, it might be something else entirely.'

'Shoot to kill!' cried a dwarven rifleman, and they fired after the beasts. Several of them groaned, and died, turning belly up, as the others escaped.

'I don't think that this place is going to be a very good place for a settlement.' decided Jaina as the gunfire raged on. 'We'd best stick to the isle, and colonize elsewhere via ship.'

'I heartily agree with you, milady.' said a voice.

Jorn the Redeemer walked out of the trees. the paladin, Jorn the Redeemer. Jorn was a physically imposing man. He had earned his name by converting a force of forest trolls to the worship of the light. Now he was accompanying the refugees from Lordaeron.

'Jorn,' said Jaina, 'what news of the shoreline settlement.'

'We've established a foothold.' said Jorn. 'However, we've faced more than our share of threats. Taming this land is going to be a great deal of trouble. I was tasked with seeking you out and providing security by the Kul'tiran commander.'

'Well unless we find somewhere better we have no choice but to try.' said Jaina. 'I suppose all we can do is press on.'

The was a stench of salt in the air was unbearable, but they had no more adventures. Several times they had to cross rivers. These were infected by meat-eating fish. Fortunately, Jaina's water elemental was able to wash them away.

Finally, the ground became firmer beneath their feet. They came out into the open and found that they had reached the barren land which they spoke of. Jaina moved ahead of her forces, relieved to be under the open sky once more.

As they traveled, they encountered a number of villages, filled with pig creatures. The creatures rushed forward, clubs swinging. The riflemen raised their guns and fired. The pig creatures snorted and halted in fear. No one had been killed, but the noise shocked them. The alliance forces moved forward, but Jaina raised a hand.

'Stop!' She called, before making her way forward to stand before them. 'We have no desire to fight you. We come in peace.'

The creatures remained silent and distrustful. 'You leave quillboar lands.' Their leader proclaimed at last. 'Or quilboar strike you down.'

'Of course,' said Jaina, 'we are just passing through. We will not harm you, if you do not harm us. Do you know of the prophet?' She did not know why, but she suspected that he would be known to those within this land. Yet there was no comprehension. 'Do you know of one who sees the strands of fate before they are woven?' A poetic description might jog some memories.

A murmur spread through the quillboars. 'You speak of Oracle. He dwells to the northwest, near Stonetalon peak. If you find him, he will tell you what you need to know. But never what you want to know.'

Riddles as always. 'Thank you.' said Jaina. 'When I return this way, I would like to learn more about your people. Is this acceptable?'

'…We will speak when you return.' said the quilboar. 'However, it great honor you ask for. Must consider.'

'Of course.' Jaina bowed before him on one knee, setting her staff into the dirt before her. 'I ask that you request your people grant us safe passage through your lands. It would be a shame if we destroyed each other before we can meet.'

'Send runners,' replied the quillboar. 'tell them to let you pass.'

'We offer our thanks.' said Jaina.

'Accepted.' grunted the creature. 'Now leave quilboar lands.'

Jaina made her way back to her forces, who had been standing on edge the whole time. Jorn approached her. 'What did you say, milady?'

'We have been granted permission to cross through the Quilboar's lands unmolested. Send messages to the other factions, tell them the Quillboars have agreed to leave us in peace.' said Jaina in satisfaction. 'We will head northwest, towards the place called Stonetalon Peak.'

'How do you know their language?' asked Jorn, curious.

'Magic. replied Jaina.

'Milady, I was serious.' objected the Paladin.

'No, it's literally magic.' insisted Jaina. 'I cast a spell that allowed me to speak any language. It's standard procedure.'

They made their way onward. During this time found that Jaina's negotiations had proven very useful. It turned out they were passing into the heart of Quilboar territory. One could hardly go two miles without encountering a village of them. All of them were true to their word and allowed the humans to pass without incident. The colonization effort thus passed unmolested. And they made for the place the Quillboars called Stonetalon peak. The air was even more sweltering than it was in Theramore and Duskwallow, and there was very little shade. Endless crags and rocks stretched before them. Only occasional scrub grass and trees to break up the monotony.

It was going to be a long march.

Then she received a communications spell from Master Antonidas. She wondered how things were going in the Eastern Kingdoms...

* * *

Two days later, upon the desolate plains of the Barrens, the Horde made camp by a great waterfall. They had drunk gratefully of it when they had come there and rested for those days. Yet now the time was fast approaching when their peoples would have to move out together. Some warriors had taken their peons and turned aside to begin setting up settlements. Yet the core of the orcs and tauren meant to move onwards, further toward Mulgore.

At the moment, Thrall and Cairne were standing side by side at the water's edge, admiring nature. The waterfall had towering spires of rock jutting out of the top which the waters flowed by. Fish swam in and out, as water gushed against the rocks. This would be an excellent place for some of the orcs to make a home. Yet it would not support them all.

The tauren used beasts of burden called Kodos to transport supplies. Many had been killed in the raids, and so those that remained were heavily laden. More worrying, however, was that Thrall had seen them before. In his vision long ago in Lordaeron, and they made him wary. For if that part of the vision had come true, other parts might also be true? He distracted himself by focusing on the landscape around him.

'This land is rugged and beautiful.' said Thrall. 'Much like the place from which my people originally come.' Grom had spoken often of its beauty, in his more philosophical moments. Before the Demons came and corrupted everything. Thrall had never seen it for himself.

'Yes,' agreed Cairne, 'we Tauren have always held a great respect for the works of the Earth Mother. There are far worse fates than living freely upon the open plains, young warchief.'

'Perhaps,' admitted Thrall, 'yet my people desire a land to call their own, Cairne.'

He could not bring himself to say they deserved it. Thrall had heard many stories of the horrors inflicted upon humanity by the orcs. Her Father had died in the second war, fighting against an Orc raid which sacked her village. Whatever the orcs reasons for their invasion, it did not change the facts. They had been the aggressor and meant to commit genocide. After all they had done, the orcs deserved to be beset for all time by vengeful enemies.

Not that he would ever say as much. It would be bad for morale.

'Warchief,' said Burx, breaking Thrall from his musings. 'we've spotted a herd of marauders bearing down on us!'

Thrall sighed and reflected that his companion was advanced in age. It would be better if he did not exert himself. 'Cairne, the kodos are overburdened and must rest. Why don't you remain here and protect the caravan while we search for a suitable oasis.' He stated as the camp began to prepare for travel, putting out fires.

Cairne laughed, indicating that he had seen right through his deception. 'Ha! There is no need to coddle me, boy. I may be old, but I'm not helpless.'

They traveled west, away from the waterfall and river and towards dryer lands. Trees still dotted the sides of their path here and there, yet the beating sun soon returned like an old enemy. The caravan moved slowly. The orcs and trolls soon found themselves outpacing the caravan by quite a span. Even so, Thrall decided to press forward. He expected the horse men would seek to bar their path, and meant to clear them away as they did so.

Soon they came to a cliff, with two diverging paths. One led west into a centaur village, while the other was the way they wanted. However, a group of centaurs barred their way, with axes and bows in hand. As they approached, the brutes reared up and charged. The rocks trembled beneath their approach as Thrall rallied his forces.

'Assume defensive positions!' He called. 'Lok-Tar Ogar! Let none stand in our way!'

Trolls hurled spears that pierced the hearts of centaur marksmen. In turn, the trolls were showered with arrows that claimed many lives. Orc warriors met the centaur warriors in melee and traded axe blows. Thrall sent a bolt of lightning to kill three centaurs and caved in the skull of a forth. The centaurs were routed.

'Hold your formations!' cried Cairne behind him. 'The kodos must be protected!'

Thrall glanced back and saw that a contingent of horsemen had ridden up behind. They began firing their arrows at the refugees. 'Quickly my warriors, to the tauren's aid!' called Thrall.

Even as his warriors rushed to meet the enemy, the tauren got there first. The totem strikes of the tauren warriors. The earth shook with their blows, that could strike a line of horsemen dead if used properly. Finally, all their enemies were dead.

Cairne approached, looking satisfied. 'They shall not catch the tauren unprepared.'

They made their way onwards, to the north. They ignored the centaur village. Their scouts found another a little further north. Thrall had no desire to slay those within, so long as they did not sally forth to meet them.

Thrall felt weak. As if his desire not to slay without need was sapping the strength of his warriors. He felt as though a presence was working through him.

But he would not compromise his values. Not for the sake of vague feelings, anyway.

The path turned east, and they journeyed on their way. The came to a number of pools of water and saw to the north a camp of centaurs. The brutes hefted their axes but did not attack, and the orcs pressed on without seeking battle.

'We should wipe them out, Warchief. They may attack the caravan.' said Burx.

'The tauren are as formidable a sight as we.' replied Thrall. 'We will let them live.'

As the orcs marched, the centaur stayed within their villages in a defensive position. On the caravan went. Then centaur came across the plains to attack them. The orcs met them in battle.

'The marauders attack again!' cried Cairne. 'Stand and fight my brethren!'

Thrall looked back. He realized that the centaurs from the village were attacking the caravan. His warriors were distracted holding off the centaur assaults. Raising his hammer, he summoned his will.

From the nether world came spectral wolves who rushed forward to attack the centaur. They tore through the creatures. Even as that battle, waged, however, Thrall could see Cairne to the south. The old chieftain was deflecting an assault by centaurs. His halberd cleaved down many of the horsemen.

At last, they finished, and Thrall approached the warrior. 'I… misjudged the centaurs. I did not account for their vendetta with the tauren. We will not make the same mistake twice.' These minimum bloodshed solutions didn't hold water in a world of war and blood.

They continued on until there was a welcome sight on the horizon. 'The first oasis!' cried a warrior. 'We've reached it!'

They barreled forward with all speed and drank of its waters. Wounds healed within moments. Some warriors dove entirely into its waters. As they drank, Thrall made his way forward and saw that a group of orcs was approaching them in large numbers.

He rode forward to meet them as the tauren caught up. 'Throm-Ka warrior,' he greeted them. 'You're from the Warsong, are you not?'

'Yes Warchief,' said their leader. 'Hellscream sent our party to find you, but we were separated when the horsemen attacked.'

'Don't worry, we'll find them.' Thrall assured him, gladdened to know his friend had made it here safely. 'For now, drink from the pool. The spirits of this place will refresh your strength.'

They were safe for now. But they had a long way yet to go.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Well here is the first chapter I've decided to split into two in this fic. I gotta say, Colonization of Kalimdor seems almost worse than Wrath of the Light. I think because I wrote them at the same time.


	3. The Long March

**Chapter Three: The Long March**

The next day the caravan set out again. And the whole time they watched the roads carefully. Several times they saw centaurs peering down on them from the crags. But no direct attack came.

'These centaurs are good fighters.' said Burx. 'A worthwhile diversion. Not as good in a fight as humans, though.'

'I'm glad you're enjoying yourself.' said Thrall.

They marched north through the shallows of a river. Upstream Thrall saw a village of murlocs. It seemed that beyond this river the lands began to become fertile again. One could see a farmer growing crops in these places.

They were beginning to leave the Barrens behind.

Soon as they traveled beneath a looming cliffside. As they did, they passed a great cave. 'Look Warchief!' said Burx. 'There are some supplies from one of our ships!'

'We'll see what we can find.' said Thrall, and they began to look through them. No sooner had they begun, however, and centaurs streamed out of the cave.

A tauren smashed a centaur across the spine with his totem. Cairne cleaved one in half. Burx hewed down two. Thrall summoned his wolves to tear them apart. At last the remaining centaurs fled, with many of them killed.

The rest of the supplies were taken, and the ground marched west. They passed once more into barren lands with much sand and dirt, and little vegetation. Here they met another force of centaurs, and these did not go down easily. They were more experienced, larger and far more skilled.

And among them were creatures that sent bolts of flame into their midst. They roared with fel voices, and many trolls and orcs were killed by his spells. At the same time, the tauren were forced to turn and defend themselves from an assault. The centaur had chosen their moment and attacked from the rear!

On they traveled and saw a force of centaurs waiting very near the road. They did not charge though. Thrall had no intention of letting them attack the caravan. 'Wait here for the caravan to arrive.' said Thrall. 'If they charge, then we'll wipe them out.'

'As you say Warchief, but you know they mean to see us dead.' said Burx.

'Let's observe the ceremonies of mercy, at least.' said Thrall darkly.

He had killed many people protecting the tauren. Far more than he had protecting the orcs. Was his policy of nonviolence then just a form of discrimination against his race?

Was he that petty?

No, he decided. The tauren were merely attempting to move. The centaurs were trying to destroy them. The orcs had been wandering through the territory of the pig men and all the others. Besides, orcs and trolls were fast enough to escape their enemies.

Even so, it unsettled him.

Then an arrow was shot by the centaurs. A group of centaurs charged around the corner from the east. Battle was joined. Again. The ensuing combat was gruesome, and in it, many people lost their lives. Thrall sent lightning bolt after lightning bolts. Cairne sent shockwaves.

Still, the centaurs came on.

Then from the hills came a pack of raiders. Their wolves howled, and they rode into the fray. Their swords cleaved down one centaur after another. Outflanked, the centaurs broke and fled. The raiders assembled before Thrall and Nazgrel came forward.

'Hail Warchief!' said Nazgrel. 'How may we serve you?!'

'Fall in, warrior.' He said, voice filled with regret.

Thrall began to regret listening to the prophet. The humans at least could be negotiated with. They needed a reason to attack someone. He reflected that if he had not come along, Cairne and all his people likely would have been wiped out. So the orcs had not been wasting their time.

That was something at least.

As they pressed north, the cliffs turned, and they realized they would have to pass through a force of harpies. The flying women were flapping their wings and hovering before them, snarling. It was the only way through. They could not ignore them, for the harpies would attack the caravan. Thrall motioned to his raiders. 'Prepare to bring them down with your nets. After that… you know what to do.'

The creatures hurled quills at them which pierced the flesh, and killed several. The raiders hurled nets which sent them tumbling down to earth. The warriors clustered around them and hacked them to pieces. Then they pressed onward until they came to a crossroads. Their right road led north, but Thrall headed south, curious.

There he saw a series of massive harpies who flew out before them. Their Queen spoke: 'Come sisters! Its been too long since we feasted on outlander flesh!'

There were vast numbers of them. Far more than Thrall wanted to fight.

'I wouldn't advise it, ladies.' deadpanned Thrall as they advanced. 'Once my wolf riders bring you to the ground you'll have little chance against us.' He was bluffing, of course. Even if they defeated these harpies, they would be left easy prey for centaurs.

The Queen hesitated and looked this way and that. From the nets of the raiders to the trolls spears. Then they withdrew.

Satisfied, Thrall and his warriors headed north, up into the highlands. The dirt crunched beneath their feet as they got higher, and came over the ridge to find a welcome sight indeed.

'The oasis at last!' said Thrall in relief.

Even as they came to the waters, Thrall saw some devices which he recognized. They must have been abandoned by their previous wielders due to the weight of them.

'Warsong catapults! Those could be useful.' He glanced to Nazgrel. 'Nazgrel, pick some men and take command of them. We may need them later.'

'Yes Warchief.' said Nazgrel.

Finally, the dawn of the fourth day came, and they moved out. They walked west, and then north. Soon they were walking through rocky crags. As they did, they saw more and more signs of the centaurs. Scouts could be spotted here and there. But no attacks came.

Then they stopped. For before them stood a network of crudely constructed towers. And on each of their nests stood centaur archers, bows in hand. There were many of them, and Thrall doubted a frontal assault would end well for his forces.

'Bring up the catapults!' he called. 'Warriors form a defensive screen in front of them. We'll break their defenses to tinder.' Then he stopped and glanced at Cairne who had come up behind them. 'Cairne,' He said in a normal tone.,'if the centaurs have the bodies of horses, how did they climb the ladders on the towers?'

Cairne remained silent for a long moment. 'The centaurs are very determined.' Was all he could think to say.

Then the catapults launched, crashing into the towers and setting them aflame. Several centaur warriors charged out to destroy the machines. These were driven off by vicious axe strokes. The barrage continued until there were no more towers to destroy.

They pressed onward in search of more. They found another standing out on the edge of a cliff, and were quick to bring it down. Beneath the gaze of the late tower, they saw many centaurs streaming through the passes below. Further on they found more, some atop the cliffs. It was a simple matter to destroy the towers. However, their progress was slowed by it.

'Nazgrel,' said Thrall, 'I want you to take your raiders to the rear. Make sure nothing gets through to the kodos. They put these towers here to slow us down.'

'Understood, Warchief.' said Nazgrel.

Finally, they had cleared the land of towers and made their way to a narrow pass.

'This pass leads straight to Mulgore,' said Cairne, 'but I fear the caravan will be overrun before it reaches the other side.'

Even as he spoke, there was a terrible thundering sound. The rocks shook with the rumor of a host of centaur. The raiders Thrall had posted as a rear guard came riding back, only a third of their number alive. Every man among them was wounded, and their wargs were in many cases limping.

'Warchief,' said Nazgrel, 'we've slain many centaurs, but there is a vast host of them after us.'

'Hurry!' called Thrall to his warriors. 'We must reach the oasis. We'll make our stand there!'

The caravan pressed onward, doom trailing at their heels. With every passing moment, the thunderous hooves drew nearer. They were nearly at the pass, but looking back Thrall saw the centaur. They were like a great tide. Many of them were larger and stronger than those they had faced.

His warriors were exhausted. Many of them were stopping to drink, their weapons were forgotten in their thirst. Many were wounded. They could not continue to flee. And they couldn't fight such a host. Not like this.

Thrall stood at the edge of the pass, watching the enemy. Was this it? Had they come across the sea to die a miserable death in these barrens? Hewn by the axes of a race so much like their own?

No. The tauren didn't deserve to die like this. He looked in desperation to Cairne, who stood beside him.

'Cairne, the caravan will never make it in time!' He said, despair filling his voice.

'Let the fury of the earth mother deal with these wretches as they deserve!' proclaimed Cairne, unafraid and stalwart. Then he struck his left hoof against the ground, and there was rumbling. Thrall suddenly felt as though there was a presence all around him, yet nowhere to be found. He felt it in the waters, and on the earth and in the sky.

It passed judgment on all things. It had watched them from the beginning, from before the beginning, and it now took action. Even as the hosts of the centaur entered through the pass, the rocks crumbled. An avalanche descended upon them. The horsemen screamed as all who entered the pass were crushed beneath the rocks. Those that survived were cut off from the caravan and forced to flee.

'They will trouble us no more.' proclaimed Cairne, turning to face him, as if discussing the weather. 'And you, young warchief are free to continue your quest.'

'To the oracle.' said Thrall. 'What is it?'

'Legends say that it saw the strands of fate as they were woven by the earth mother.' Cairne explained. 'It alone can show you your destiny.'

'Where will I find it?' asked Thrall.

'Far to the north, near the shadowy base of Mount Hyjal, lies Stonetalon peak. You will find the Oracle within the peak's hollow.' Cairne smiled. 'I will send my finest kudos to aid you in your journey.'

'Thank you Cairne.' said Thrall to his friend. 'I will not forget you.'

'Go with honor, young Warchief.' said Cairne with an upraised hand. 'May the Earthmother smile upon you.'

* * *

Once Champion of the Scourge and general of entire armies Arthas Menethil had fallen far. Once he had laid to waste some of the greatest nations the world had ever seen. Now he was reduced to scouting duty, looking over the barren wastelands of Kalimdor. He had come across the orcs by chance. And he had followed them throughout their various adventures, observing their progress. The worst part of this was that he reported to the one who had supplanted him.

Kel'thuzad was the lucky one. He had been given the task of building up the Scourge's power base around Stratholme. Archimonde viewed his summoner as more important. Certainly more important than the man who ensured there could be a summoning.

Truth be told it was mind numbingly boring. When he had started this expedition, Arthas had half hoped and half dreaded he might run into Jaina. But there had been no such luck here. Mostly he dodged quillboards and centaur. He'd spent his spare hours reading from the tomes of demon lore that were still in his pack. He had learned a great deal from them, actually. They had been authored by Gul'dan. Despite his unfavorable reputation, the Warlock proved an eloquent author. He was a genuine pleasure to read.

Even so, there is only so long one can immerse oneself in the writings of a dead orc. Rising from the cliffside he had been reading under, he put away the tome. Then he turned away from where the orcs and tauren stood below in the grasslands. Entering the shadows of a dank cave, he removed the stone of communication he had been given, and sent out the call.

'What is it Death Knight?' asked Tichondrius.

'I thought you might want to know,' said Arthas, 'I found the orcs which have thus far eluded you. They are in Kalimdor, and they are making allies.'

'I see,' said Tichondrius, 'you did well to bring this to me.'

'Give the order, I will begin picking off their stragglers and raising them as undead.' stated Arthas. He did not like orcs. It wasn't as if they were going to have a positive effect on anything. 'From there I can work on the warriors and finish them off.'

''That won't be necessary,' said Tichondrius, 'continue your observations.'

Arthas was stunned by his superiors response. 'Your agenda is the complete destruction of all creation. Now when I want to commit outright genocide, you restrain me?' Tichondrius probably planned to use the orcs for something. It was the only reason he would show mercy,

'This matter no longer concerns you.' replied Tichondrius. 'I will deal with it personally. Carry out your orders, Death Knight, and await further instructions.'

Then the channel was cut. Arthas sighed, and leaned against the cave wall. He sank to a sitting position as he wiped away sweat from his brow. Very few people appreciated how difficult it was to remain inconspicuous. Especially while clad in black armor, in the middle of the desert. His mount, Invincible made its way out of the shadows to nuzzle him with its skeletal face.

Arthas petted the creature, though it wasn't the same as petting a live horse. Live horses had long since begun to recoil from him. 'Well Invincible, it looks like we'll be on our own for awhile.' He scratched behind its nonexistent ears. 'Strange isn't it? Tichondrius defined his command over us by never lifting a finger to help.

'Now he wants to handle everything personally, and we're stuck with grunt work. I'm going to arrange his death for this one these days.' He breathed out and raised Frostmourne before his eyes. The blade gleamed menacingly, exuding control. 'Damn it.'

He was filled with a regret for a great many things. The worst part was that there was nothing he could do about it. His choice was already made.

The words returned to him; The harder you strive to slay your enemies, the faster you deliver your people straight into their hands.

He ignored them.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Okay so here we have the second part of the long march. This mission is a really bad one to adapt. Because not a lot actually happens in it. In Ravages of the Plague, you had a whole series of different adventures that built up the undead threat. But this is basically just walking from one place to another fighting off centaurs.

As a result, I suspect that these are going to be the worst chapters of this fic.


	4. Cry of the Warsong

**Chapter Four: Cry of the Warsong**

Atop a cliff rising between Anderhol and Hearthglen, Tichondrius appeared. The long grass was swaying amidst echoes of doom. Looking across the lake, he saw a village in Doom Guards, under the Pit Lord Mannaroth, were laying waste to it. They were not unopposed. Many brave footmen rushed forward, covered by riflemen to do battle with the demons. Several doomguards had died to the footmen already. Even so, there was no question who would emerge the victor.

Tichondrius had not informed Lord Archimond that he was coming here today. He had not even informed him that the orcs were still alive. He doubted that Archimond was unaware of any of this. But Tichondrius felt obligated to test his Lord and Master. He was secure enough in his position to know he wouldn't be killed for it. He teleported to where Mannoroth was fighting. Mannoroth huge green centaur-like creature with a maw of sharp teeth. In one gigantic arm, he carried a giant double-bladed spear, sword thing. Tichondrius could not remember its right name. He wore armor that covered his stomach and shoulders. It left his chest exposed, save for the golden chains which hung over it. Few opponents could reach as high as Mannaroth's chest. He had a long black beard which grew from his chin, and his eyes were green.

The Pit Lord was hacking away at a force of footmen. The humans charged bravely and were slaughtered by the dozens. Their steel armor was useless before the might of Mannoroth. When those who remained had fled, Tichondrius spoke. 'Hail, mighty Mannoroth. How goes the invasion?'

The Pit Lord laughed a bloodthirsty which meant that he was enjoying it. That did not bode well. 'These humans offer stiff resistance! They are frail, but entertaining to slaughter!'

'The scourge accomplished its objective.' said Tichondrius, annoyed by confirmation of what he already knew. The human's military power had been left intact. 'Unlike some others, I could name.'

'Do not mock me, Dreadlord!' snapped Mannoroth, slamming the ground. It shook and broke beneath the force of his strength. 'I am aware of the orcs failure! When I find them, I will discipline them myself!'

'Yes, actually,' said Tichondrius, happy at the change of subject. 'that's why I've come. I thought you might like to know that the orcs are no longer here.' This was the part where he found out whether Lord Archimonde had been lax in his observations. Tichondrius wondered what he would do if such were the case.

'What?' said Mannoroth, peering at him in suspicion. 'Are you certain?'

'Certain as ever, Mannoroth.' replied Tichondrius. 'My agents, at least, are always dependable. They tell me that the orcs have landed on Kalimdor.' No word from Lord Archimond yet, Tichondrius was beginning to feel hopeful.

'Kalimdor?' asked Mannoroth, shock in his voice. 'But what could they be- Bah! The orcs are mine by right, and I will claim them wherever they choose to run!' Tichondrius was almost disappointed.

Then Archimonde was there. His presence sent shivers down the spine of Tichondrius. He and Mannaroth turned to face the Demon Lord. Their conversation had been observed.

'And you are mine, Mannaroth!' snapped Archimonde, fury in his tone. 'You would do well to remember that fact. We will watch the wayward orcs and wait. Despite their failure, they may still prove useful to us.'

By this time those citizens and soldiers who had not fled the demons were lying dead in the streets. Blood had run in rivers, yet some of that blood had belonged to the demons. This war would take more effort than they had been expecting…

* * *

Five days later, near the foothills of Stonetalon peak, Thrall and his warriors walked. A lot. The dust kicked up from their steps flowed behind them, choking them. The smell of sweat was everywhere. A kodo rider beat a drum to keep everyone in stride, and the warriors marched on either side of it.

As they walked a group of orcs came out of the underbrush. Thrall looked up to see Drek'thar and the Frostwolf Clan coming out of the trees. Thrall rode to meet them.

'Well met, Drek'thar.' said Thrall.

'Well met, Warchief.' said Drek'thar. 'We've had no luck finding proper places for a settlement. Some of the other clans got there first.'

'I may be able to help you.' said Thrall. 'To the south, there is a place called Mulgore. There are a people called the tauren there who are our allies. They will be able to help you find a suitable location.'

'If there is one.' said Burx. 'The days here are sweltering and the nights are freezing.'

'It will be a challenge to tame this land.' mused Drek'thar. 'One worthy of the Horde.'

'Yes,' said Thrall 'I suppose it would. I'll have some of my trolls guide you there.'

So they traveled onward. As they did so, their tempers frayed. They met little resistance. The centaurs dared not attack them now. And they were far from quillboar lands. Several fights broke out in the camp.

Finally, they were at their wit's end.

'Warchief, we've been trudging through these wastelands for a week, with nothing to do but dodge centaurs and pig men!' complained Burx. 'We need real enemies to test our mettle!'

'Yes,' said Thrall, quite tired of it himself, 'boredom and the beating sun have put us all on edge. But we must push on! All will be made clear once we reach the Oracle.' He only hoped that were true. If not he was liable to have a mutiny on his hands.

As if on cue, they came over the top of a rise and heard the ringing of bells, a familiar tone from the bad old days. And wouldn't you know it? There was a familiar sight as well.

'Look, it's the Warsong clan!' said Burx with glee. 'And they're battling humans!'

No real surprise. They saw a human village under attack by violet-clad orcs. A familiar chieftain was also there. Thrall sighed as the combat continued. He realized that everyone wanted him to say something. 'What? Lok-Tar warriors! Hellscream needs help!'

He meant something different from what the orcs thought he did. That done, he proceeded to do nothing as the combat proceeded.

None of his warriors made any move to involve themselves either. They looked at him.

'Wretched Orcs!' yelled a wizard as he cast flames into the Warsong Clan's midsts. 'How dare you follow us to this land!'

'Warchief,' said Burx, 'should we involve ourselves?'

'Save your breath, human!' snapped Grom 'You'll need it to scream when I start tearing off your limbs!'

'Hellscream seems to have it handled.' mused Thrall. 'Anyway, he likes a good fight. And I'm not feeling up to one.'

'Yes,' agreed Burx 'battle is no fun without a challenge.'

So they waited. Someone screamed in agony. Hellscream had ripped off the wizard's leg. By this time the remaining humans were fleeing for their lives. Thrall closed his eyes and reached out with his mind to the land. He saw a vision of many people fleeing with packs filled with valuables.

Refugees from this village.

Grom and his warriors had begun to loot the place. Now that Thrall noticed this could be a good place for a village. Thrall glanced to the chief peon, Baka. 'Begin construction of a village here. And send runners requesting assistance from the other parts of the Horde. I have a feeling we'll need them.'

'Okay.' said Baka.

The peons began felling trees as the Warsong finished looting. Hellscream set fire to the houses, and soon the village was in a blaze. It was an odd sight seeing the Warsong Clan destroy, while the peons created. It was both unsettling, and poetic.

As the smoke rose high into the air Thrall rode forward to meet Grom. The old orc walked to meet him. 'Grom, what was this about?' asked Thrall. 'And how the hell did these humans get here anyway?'

'Same way we did, little brother.' said Grom. 'Apparently, a frail girl named Proudmoore leads them. Her forces have cordoned off the pass that leads to the north.'

Thrall sighed. 'Well, we must make it through the pass despite her. I'll send our hunters to scout the area while we establish a base.' He gave Grom a hard look. 'Until then, the humans are not to be touched.'

'Whatever you say, Warchief.' said Grom, and he made his way back to his village. Why did Thrall have the feeling that Grom was going to follow the letter of his instructions? And then ignore their intent? Probably because he was.

Work proceeded on schedule. As it did Thrall made his way through the foothills, scouting the surrounding area. During this time, he encountered a group of humans bearing the emblem of Lordaeron, to the west. This was no army.

These were refugees. Similar to those Thrall had seen in the aftermath of some of the battles in Lordaeron. Turning Thrall made his way north. There he saw a large village of centaurs. Why hadn't they attacked the humans? They couldn't be unaware of their presence?

Marching a bit north he found yet another village of humans. This one was fortified, with many soldiers within it. They bore no emblem he could see.

Thrall turned and made his way back. There he encountered the hunters he had sent out waiting for him. His name was... Rokhan, Thrall believed.

'Hey, boss man!' said Rokhan. 'We spotted multiple human encampments nearby. There also be a goblin laboratory protected by a base to the north.'

'Interesting,' said Thrall, 'if we can reach the goblins without incident, we can hire their zeppelins to fly us above the pass.' He looked to Vol'jin. 'Vol'jin get together a delegation. We'll arrange a meeting with the humans' leader. If we're lucky, we can avoid anymore pointless fighting.'

'Why not crush them?' asked Burx.

'We're expecting the return of the demons that destroyed Draenor.' said Thrall. 'I don't want to exhaust our armies in meaningless skirmishes.' On a whim, he sent forth his consciousness to see how Grom was doing.

Grom was standing in front of the assembled Warsong.

'I can wait no longer!' roared Hellscream. 'The humans must be slaughtered!'

And then he and a raiding part rushed off across the plains on a direct course to the humans. Thrall covered his face with two hands. 'Oh spirits, he just ran in.'

'Warchief,' cried Burx, 'the war song clan is attacking the humans despite your orders!'

'Damn it.' said Thrall. 'There is nothing to do now but fight.' He took charge. 'Tighten our defenses! I'll deal with Hellscream later.'

Guards were posted on the towers the peons had erected. Reinforcements were gathered for war. The raiding party ended up resulting in complete failure. Thrall saw it through the spirits. Grom hit the most fortified of the human villages. No doubt he had been expecting an easy victory.

Instead, half his raiding party was killed in moments, and Grom was forced to withdraw. The human encampments around them began to rally. But when he looked to the other human settlements, he saw that they were doing nothing. No messengers went to them. And all of them bore different symbols.

That was good news.

'I sense that the humans have no coordination.' said Thrall. 'There doesn't seem to be a central leader, and I doubt they are going to support one another.'

'We could divide and conquer them then.' said Burx.

'That is one option.' said Thrall. 'I'd rather just conquer one of them and put this idiocy behind us. Only an idiot fights a war on two fronts.'

And then he saw Grom Hellscream leading another raiding party into the plains. It wasn't even all that much larger than the first.

'Warchief, the Warsong Clan is attacking another human encampment!' said Burx.

'Perhaps this is our destiny.' reflected Thrall. 'to go on fighting the humans forever.'

This was going to be a bloody day.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Okay, we've split this chapter into two. Enjoy.


	5. The Bloodletting

**Chapter Five: The Bloodletting**

Hellscream had been launching minor raids against every human village for miles. Few of them did anything more than anger the humans. As a result, the situation was turning into a full-scale conflict.

Thrall had been gathering his troops, and now he felt ready for his attack.

'Hear me, warriors!' said Thrall. 'We will now fall upon the northmost base! We will drive in their armies and clear the way for the next step of the Horde's destiny! Hellscream stands with us! Together we cannot be stopped!'

Cheers. They had been waiting for a proper fight.

And so they rode forth. As they did a large group of quillboars leaped out of the trees to attack them. A vicious battle took place. Burx cleaved two down with vicious strokes from his axe. Thrall caved in a skull with a hammer. At last, the quillboars broke and fled, having had the worst of it.

'Why didn't these creatures attack the humans?' he wondered aloud. 'They traversed through here firsts.'

'Perhaps the humans have allied with them.' guessed Burx.

'I hope not.' said Thrall. 'If so, Hellscream has caused even more problems than I thought he did. No matter, we press on to face the humans!' More cheers.

Finally, they came within sight of the human encampment. The entrance was barred by many towers manned by archers. Many footmen stood ready to defend their town against outside attack.

The Horde assembled itself outside of the defenses and began to set up their siege equipment. They prepared for the assault. Catapults were set up and stones set into them.

Suddenly Quillboars, hundreds of them.

The warriors guarding the catapults were overwhelmed and slain. One of the devices was hacked to pieces. The Horde rallied turned to face the new threat. Even as they did so, the humans launched a charge, and they were flanked. Dozens of troll and orcish warriors were slain in the fighting. Thrall sent a bolt of lightning to tear through the human's lines, and many died.

The orcs rallied and fought back. Burx cleaved through the shield of a human and split his skull. Thrall struck the head off another. Vol'jin ran a quillboar through his spear. Then the orcs met the quillboars in battle.

At last, the humans withdrew, and the quillboars were routed.

'Man those catapults!' cried Thrall. 'Prepare to siege!'

The siege began. Stone after stone crashed into the towers. Yet the masonry held strong. Thrall marveled at human buildings. An orc structure would have fallen to pieces by now. If only his peons could learn the same secrets.

He looked to Burx. 'Burx, send out scouts to look for any sign of a relief force. If the other humans get here, we might have a problem.'

'As you say, Warchief.' said Burx.

Then Thrall looked back. Smoke was rising from the direction of the village he had established. His eyes widened as a human tower fell.

'Quickly my warriors!' he cried. 'Withdraw! The humans are attacking our villages!'

'Where the hell is the Warsong clan?' muttered Burx.

They made a forced march back. When they arrived, they found that the warriors had been driven into the great hall. Many towers had fallen. The peons were taking shelter in their borrows, hurling spears at the alliance. The ground was covered in bodies. Most of them orcs.

These footmen bore the emblem of Gilneas and knew their work. They locked shields together and advanced. Rather than force their way into the huts, they hurled torches to smoke their enemies out. The peons fled out a back door, their pigs and other livestock fleeing along with them. Some woman and children could be seen amongst them.

Arrows. Here they made their stand as the humans advanced with deadly intent. The spears lodged in the shield wall with little effect. Swords gleamed menacingly in the light.

Then Thrall and his warriors were upon them. Thrall summoned spirit wolves and sent them tearing into the human ranks. Burx led the assault from behind and hacked into them. Lightning flashed as Thrall summoned the spirits and many footmen fell dead.

During the fray, Thrall looked up. And he saw that Grom Hellscream was leading the Warsong on another raid. Not upon the enemy they needed to fight, but upon another enemy who had not yet been aware of their presence.

No help would come from the Warsong

At last, the enemy broke off and retreated. Many were dead on both sides. What were the humans even doing here? The prophet had said nothing of this.

And then the humans returned. Those from Gilneas were bolstered by those bearing the banner of Lordaeron. A paladin was first in the assault. He smashed two orcs dead before coming to blows with Burx. The two fought back and forth as the two sides met in gruesome combat.

The screams of the dying filled the air. The stench of death was in Thrall's nostrils as he threw bolts of lightning. At last, the humans broke and fled. Before they could be overtaken a group of dwarves came forward. They covered their retreat with rifle fire.

'Whoever commanded these humans is good.' said Thrall.

'What do you mean?' asked Burx.

'Traditionally humans focus on protecting their strongpoints and relieving sieges.' said Thrall. 'The command for these humans broke tradition. He took the offensive while we were committed.'

'It may have been coincidence, Warchief.' said Burx.

A brief peace overtook the battlefield. The dead were buried, and during this time bands of trolls and orcs came to Thrall. More and more of them. Thrall focused on rebuilding the fortifications. At last, it was done, and they had a great force at their disposal.

'Now my warriors,' said Thrall, 'the time has come to finish this! We will attack again and destroy their weakened defenses!

'Lok'Tar Ogar!' He cried.

The orcs cheered louder than ever. The warriors had been having a good day. Once again, no help came from Hellscream. He was busy raiding.

The second assault proved easier. The towers had been destroyed, and the orcs overran the front defenses. But they soon faced a powerful formation of humans. The enemy tooth and nail to prevent him from passing. Many footmen and grunts died in battle with each other, as a mortar was hacked down. Mages cast spells from the rear of the line, as priests healed their comrades.

The result was not really in contest. The Horde overran the defenses, and those humans who did not flee were killed or captured. Some orcs started taking slaves from the prisoners of war. Elves were a popular commodity. Especially female ones.

Thrall withheld his distaste as an orc warrior tied an elven sorceress in ropes. He would have to do something about the slave trade, one of these days.

Then there came the ringing of bells.

The peasants of the humans came forward picking up axes and shields. They did not charge. They took defensive positions and looked ready to defend themselves.

'Leave the village standing.' said Thrall. 'They are no longer a threat. We'll find the goblins and finish this.'

A runner from the Warsong Clan appeared, looking proud. 'Chieftan Hellscream has seized much plunder from the human villages. We have many captives for the slave pits. He wishes to meet with you to discuss plans of conquest?'

'Tell Hellscream that he will withdraw. The Warsong Clan will focus its attention on defending the villages.' snapped Thrall. 'Hellscream has caused more than enough trouble for one day. And any live prisoners the Warsong Clan seized are to be released back to their homes.'

'But we achieved victory!' objected the warrior, taken aback.

'You defied direct orders.' Seethed Thrall. 'You invited destruction upon your fellow orcs. And you forced us into a pitched battle when what we needed most was speed. If we kill everyone we meet, by the time the demons get here, there won't be enough of us left to stop them. Now return to Grom, and tell him I expect him to follow orders this time. Or suffer the consequences of continued defiance.'

The warrior returned, making his way back across the plains. Burx looked to Thrall. 'Warchief, are we to release our captives as well?'

Thrall wanted to say yes. But he knew that wasn't an option. 'Of course not. You warriors have served the Horde loyally. You have earned your plunder.'

Thrall and his warriors pressed past the human encampment. Before long they found centaurs blocking their path. The horsemen charged and there was another melee. Lightning was thrown. Wolves tore through horses. Axes hewed fled.

Thrall didn't even bother to find a way around them this time. His warriors crushed the centaurs. Before long the horsemen withdrew. His doubts regarding the prophet were only growing.

'I'm beginning to doubt this prophet's instructions.' said Thrall. 'Everything in this miserable continent except the tauren has tried to kill us. So much for new beginnings.'

'But we've faced many worthy opponents.' said Burx.

'You seem to have missed my point.' said Thrall.

As they climbed the hill the land became more fertile. Many more trees were growing here. They met another centaur force here. They had another battle. At least the warriors enjoyed themselves.

At last, the centaurs all lay dead. They marched beyond to the very peak of the mountain.

They came within sight of the goblin laboratory. Thrall made his way forward and knocked politely. After a moment the door opened, and a goblin peered out.

'Can I help you?' asked the goblin.

'I'd like to purchase some zeppelins.' said Thrall, exhausted.

It did not take long to purchase the zeppelins. Soon Thrall and his remaining warriors were sailing down towards the village. As they did so, they saw the towns and villages of the humans. Most of them were intact, and many of their warriors remained. But there were destroyed buildings everywhere and many bodies. The only good news was the humans seemed to have given up the attack. Thrall did not speak during that journey. Neither did his warriors. He suspected they sensed his fury.

When they got back, Thrall realized that the battle had taken days. They had blurred together during the fighting. Hundreds on both sides had died horribly in a fight which was completely unnecessary. The orcs and trolls had suffered nearly as much as the humans. And for what?

For bloodlust.

Thrall was angrier than he had been for a very long time.

It would only take a small few words to unleash his fury. Even so, he had resolved to brush the matter aside until he had addressed his men. 'With these, we can reach Stonetalon Peak by morning.' He stated to them.

And he would have said more. At that moment, who should appear, but Grom Hellscream. He came forward looking furious. No doubt his pride was hurt. 'A true warrior would simply take the pass from the humans.'

So it had come to this then. Grom had crossed the line from being stuck in the past, into outright insubordination. Not that anyone was calling him on it. He could see some warriors praising the valor of Hellscream. As if he had been anything beyond a milestone in this conflict.

Thrall turned to him. 'Have you lost what's left of your mind, Grom?!' He snarled as he advanced on the Chieftain, lightning crackling around him. 'I gave you a direct order to leave the humans alone!'

Grom snarled and approached him, looming tall. 'Don't lecture me, pup! The wretches deserved death!' Then all of a sudden he seemed to master himself and step backward, no longer seeming as large. His face had changed, and he seemed suddenly almost pitiful. 'Don't you feel it, Thrall? It's like the old days… like the Demons are near.'

Thrall calmed himself somewhat but remained unfazed. 'I don't know what's come over you and your men.' He stated. 'But this… bloodlust is a liability I can't afford.'

'I…' Grom forced himself into focus, and he seemed very. 'I'm sorry Thrall. Your right Thrall. I… I can handle it.'

Oh, so he was sorry. That almost distracted Thrall from the hundreds of people on both sides who were dead. This was so typical!

'I can't take that chance, Grom.' said Thrall, keeping his frustration out of his voice, despite himself. 'Take your clan into the northern forest and build us a settlement. I'll come find you after we've reached the oracle.'

The two friends parted ways without further words and contemplated their respective philosophies.

* * *

He'd been rooting for the Alliance.

Arthas Menethil had observed all of this with a great deal of care. It was far more difficult than one would think to trail behind the Orcish Horde. True, they moved so loudly that a blind man could have tracked them. But they were also numerous. The Warchief kept calling soldiers to his banner. He'd been forced to move constantly to escape notice.

He emerged from the rocky hollow in which he had been hiding. Then he watched the zeppelins flying away into the distance. Now the real question was, which one of these two Warleaders would the legion have an interest in.

Not Thrall, certainly. Barring another Frostmourne, he was far too restrained to be much use as a pawn. Even with another convenient magical runeblade, something told Arthas Thrall wouldn't take it. No, if the Legion was going to corrupt anyone Grom seemed the more likely candidate. After a moment, Arthas removed his communication gem.

He sent forth his consciousness to contact Tichondrius. 'The orcs have gone their separate ways.' he said. 'Grom Hellscream is heading north, to a large forest. Warchief Thrall is taking his people towards Stonetalon Peak, to meet this… Oracle.'

'What have you found out about the Oracle?' asked Tichondrius.

'Aside from the fact that he has contacts in both Alliance and Horde, you mean?' asked Arthas, believing that notable enough. 'He has a reputation among the locals. Do you want me to kill him?' That was what he was, after all, a professional murderer. Then again that more or less described half the population of Azeroth. It was a very prestigious business with a long and glorious history.

'All in good time,' said Tichondrius, 'for now I will handle affairs in Ashenvale. You will follow the orcs to the north.' As Arthas suspected. 'Keep me informed as to all that transpires. I have business elsewhere.'

Arthas felt the connection be cut, and remained silent for a moment. Then he called to him an undead spirit who had watched him, yet thus far not taken action. It was the shadowy silhouette of what had once been a human. An acolyte who had been sacrificed to create a shade. Not that he was complaining, for the Acolytes regarded such a fate as an honor. 'I am yours to command, Master.'

'Follow the Warsong Clan into Ashenvale.' said Arthas. 'Observe all they do. I will be watching through your eyes.'

'All shall be revealed!'

The shade made its way across the wastes after Hellscream. Arthas watched it go, then remounted Invincible. He turned his mount road across the pass into the sunset. The dust rising around the beating hooves of Invincible. The Alliance forces had given up to lick their wounds, as the Warsong Clan was finally obeying orders. He saw no sign of them. However, he came across several battlegrounds.

The bodies had been largely hauled away, but a few remained. To his satisfaction, his former faction had given as good as it got. Evidently, Jaina was a better leader than he'd thought.

He followed the road into the human village, and here decided that stealth was out of the question. He urged Invincible into a gallop and rode through the town. Several guards looked up and saw him, but they had no time to respond. The alarm was sounded, but Arthas was gone as soon as he had come.

Arthas rode past the centaur villages. Many new burial mounds had been dug and there seemed to be a funeral going on. Another wasted opportunity.

Arthas had no reason to resurrect them right now, of course. Indeed it might blow his cover. But he found that it was now a habit of his to view bodies as opportunities, rather than things to be buried. Amazing how a month or two could change one. Finally, he reached the peak of the mountain.

There he found the door waiting, and he climbed to the top of the Laboratory. He knocked twice, and the door opened. There he saw an old friend. His skin was a bit burned, but he was otherwise unharmed.

'Yes.' said Mordavian.

'I need passage on a zeppelin.' said Arthas, offering a bag of gold. 'And your silence of course.'

'…It's been a good day.' said Mordavian, taking it. 'The keys are in the ignition, Prince Arthas. And silence is golden.'

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

You know, it's a real shame what Blizzard has done to the Horde. They started out as a group of honorable badasses trying to put the dark past behind them. But Blizzard has completely derailed them into a bunch of psychopathic hypocrites. And then they have the nerve to pretend as if they are still honorable badasses.

You can't have your cake and eat it too, Blizzard.


	6. The Spirits of Ashenvale

**Chapter Six: The Spirits of Ashenvale**

The zeppelin was practically empty, and Arthas leaned against a wall. He was tapping the tip of Frostmourne against the floor as he waited. The Captain of this zeppelin was not so courteous as his master, Mordavian, and so he was sitting in a cargo bay. Waiting for his chance to get off.

In this time of boredom, he reflected that events had put him on a course where he might encounter Jaina again. Was it fate? Destiny? Or just simple blind luck. Arthas did not know, but he did not see what contribution he could make here to change events. His whole purpose was that of an observer. To watch the coming bloodshed with interest. Even so, he had to admit a certain respect for the Orc Warchief. In a unique turn of events, the orc had been going out of his way to slay anything he didn't have to.

He could have just as easily sacked those villages and left the survivors to rot. Instead, he achieved his objective without killing anyone he didn't have to. Despite himself, Arthas wondered if they were not more similar than he had realized. Now that he thought of it, he had seen the orc before.

He'd seen him fighting in the pits of Durnholme. Arthas had watched the battle take place there. He recalled looking into how the animals were treated. As he recalled Blackmoore was badly chided for his treatment of the creatures in his sway. Arthas had specifically forbidden him from using any more animals. It was one of his early good deeds.

So much for all that, Lordaeron lay in ashes, far across the sea.

He turned his eyes to the sight of the shade he had sent to Ashenvale, and observed…

Two days later, within the borderlands of Ashenvale, the shade had tired of observing. Ashenvale was a place of darkness, yet not in the manner the servants of the Lich King enjoyed. Even so, it pressed on that its master might see all that there was to know. The thick leaves blocked out much of the light, and the trees closed in around those within. When one walked within the vast realm one had the impression that every action one took was watched. Judged. If one looked carefully, one could see dancing lights amongst the trees. It was in this place that the Warsong Clan had made their camp.

The shade watched over the shoulder of an elf, though not like any elf Arthas had ever seen. Their skin was purple, and they wore a cloak of animal hide. The elf watched down upon a great camp that had been erected on the eves of the forest. There were many burrows and a barracks.

* * *

Grom Hellscream stood at the center of the camp, serving little purpose and knowing it. His axe had not been made to cleave trees, but necks.

The peons were hard at work clearing away the trees. Without something to fight the rest of the Warsong clan found themselves with nothing to do. Nothing but spread rumors anyway.

'Damn Thrall for sending me away,' said Grom, 'he chooses to use his greatest warriors for manual labor! He'll be lost without me.' Grom had known Thrall long enough to know he was far too nice for his own good. Arthas was not sure how he knew this, yet the information came to him from another observer. He tried to fade into a passive state of observation.

'Chieftan,' said a warrior, 'there's something strange about these woods. It's too… quiet. Almost like we're being watched.'

'Are you all afraid of spirits now?' said Hellscream, laughing. 'There is nothing here, but ancient trees and shadow!'

At that moment there came a murmuring of voices. They carried through the trees from some nearby glade. Those listening could not understand what was being said, however, the tones set them on edge.

'You hear that!' said the warrior. 'This place is haunted! I fear no living enemy, but my axe cannot cleave fleshless spirits!'

'Still your tongue and get to work.' snapped Grom. 'The Warchief's new settlement will require a great deal of lumber. This section of forest must be cleared!'

As he spoke, the Elf who had been observing departed without a word. Work continued at a steady progress, as the peons hacked gradually away at a thin veil of trees. During this time, Grom came upon a dancing light, circling around a tree. He cleaved it in twain with his axe.

'Those dancing lights are strange,' he said with mock fear, 'perhaps those are the dread spirits which you've all been so afraid of.'

* * *

 _'I like this orc.'_ thought Arthas, despite himself.

* * *

Within a scant few hours, the trees had been hacked away, and the way deeper into the forest was made clear. Grom led his forces forward axe in hand, to scout ahead.

At that moment a host of violet skinned creatures came from the darkness. They rode panthers and hurled glaives at the orcs. Arrows shot out of the trees, Several grunts were struck in the chest.

'You were right, sisters!' proclaimed an elf. 'These green skinned brutes have no respect for life!'

Grom led his forces into battle, and cut down a panther rider, as the grunts attempted to lay hands on the archers. Another he pulled off her mount and threw to the ground. Yet elves did not stay to fight but retreated into the shadows. Hellscream slashed the straggler he had pulled down and she fell dead.

The others caught up, and they looked upon the body of their fallen enemy. It was very fair and shapely to look at, despite the injuries.

'Women,' said a warrior, 'they're women!'

'Yes,' said Grom, in a contemplative mood, 'they almost look like elves, but their far too tall and far too savage.'

The war song clan pressed into the forest and established a camp by a grove of trees. There they began hacking lumber from while setting up shelters. Several times in the past few days rain storms had come upon them. They had no desire to be caught in one again. As they worked, Hellscream caught sight of something familiar to him.

He made his way towards a sentient made clearing. There were many hewn stumps at the ready, he found a Goblin waiting by a table, just as if he had been expected.

'Ah, greetings good orc,' said the goblin, 'strange to see one of you in these parts.'

'We are here to cut lumber, little goblin.' said Grom.

'Hmm,' said the goblin, 'well there's this tribe of bear men in the region that's been giving us trouble. If you kill the chieftain, we'll sell our goods to you at cost. We might even let you borrow a few shredders.'

Grom looked up to where the mechs were standing some distance away. They had spinning blades and looked like they could hew many trees with ease. 'I'll consider it.' said Hellscream, before returning to his camp. Hellscream was concerned with cutting lumber than seeking out a fight. He strengthened his defenses.

Then he focused. Summoning the power of wind he became invisible to all eyes and made his way south. There he found a great tree, that almost looked alive. It had arms of rough wood and was guarded by more of the elves, who stood watch. They could not see Hellscream, who noted the wells of sparkling water.

They were a voluptuous, beautiful lot. Every single one of them was beautiful. Grom would make sure to capture a few of them if they attacked again. He made his way back to camp.

Even as he did so, there was a beating of wings, and flying beasts flew over the trees, ridden by elves. They fired arrows down upon them. A warrior shouted. 'Chieftain, the warrior woman have returned on flying beasts!'

Arrows were launched down upon the camp, and some shamans were pierced through the throat. In return, the remaining shamans cast spells that slowed the movements of the riders.

Grom never lost his head of a moment. 'They won't last long after our wolf riders have ensnared them. Bring them down!'

Wolfriders leapt high into the air, and hurled nets with practiced skill. The night elves were caught, and sent plummeting down to earth. There the warriors descended on them hacked the beasts to pieces. Many of the women were pulled off and bound in ropes.

'These are pretty ones, aren't they?' asked an orc.

The elf said something defiantly in their own language. Grom smiled. 'Yes. Do what you like with them, my warriors. Just make sure they survive it. We'll want to take many of these captives back as trophies.'

While the warriors had their fun, Grom made his way away from camp on his own, heading north into the forests. He traveled under looming branch, and over twisting root. Eventually, he came to a brilliant river leading over towards a shore filled with trees. It was quite scenic.

From there he began scouting to the west. He made his way along the river until he came to a place where a bear man stood guard. Doubtless, this was one of those the Goblin had spoken of. Grom rushed past him without a word, making his way down deeper into the forest. The bear man pursued for a time, before losing interest. As Grom crossed through the trees, he came abruptly into a night elven encampment.

A giant of a tree stood there, gripping a great stone. As soon as he set foot into the clearing, the giant held aloft the stone and launched it. Grom leaped away, and the stone crashed into the ground, leaving a crater in its place. Grom fled east, towards the camp, and ducked under many arrows as they were launched. Finally, the elves gave up the chase, and he returned to the camp.

'The elves have set their camp some ways to the west and south of here.' said Grom. 'For a species that hates the destruction of trees, they use many pointed sticks.'

'Chieftain!' said a warrior. 'The peons have exhausted the supply of trees in the main camp. There is another patch west of them, however, we fear it will lead straight into an elven outpost. Shall we destroy it?'

'Don't bother,' said Grom, 'these elven raids will provide us battle while we fell these trees. Move the lumber operations north to this camp. We'll slash and burn as we go until we've gotten everything we need. And have some entertainment to keep us occupied in the meantime.'

'Yes Chieftain,' said the warrior. 'what of the bearmen?'

'If the Goblins don't want to scare off their customers they should fight their own battles!' snapped Grom 'I have no quarrel with these bearmen.'

'As you say Chieftain.'

Another assault fell upon them from the north. More Night Elves on flying beasts assaulted them. As before they were dragged down to earth, and dealt with. Even as they finished with the first, there was an assault from the south, which the Warsong Clan had to deflect. One of the kodos was wounded and had to be withdrawn for treatment, and several warriors had been killed.

Even so, the elves had suffered far worse for their assault than the orcs. Many had been killed. Those who had not been killed were clapped in chains and dragged to the pits.

Grom had his way with a few of them. In his youth, he'd been a terror among the ladies. He wasn't above sampling exotic fair. They struggled and swore in their own language a great deal. But that just made breaking them all the more entertaining.

Once he'd had his fun, he sent them to the slave pits. If this entire species looked like this, he expected they could be of use to the Horde.

After that Hellscream was content to observe matters. Little by little the trees which had covered the horizon were beaten back. The elves did not seem to be making much of an attempt to assault them. The stockpile was growing. Hellscream made his way south with a small band of warriors. Eventually, he came to the spot where he had seen the elves before.

'Chieftain,' said a warrior in a hushed tone, 'that great oak pulses with magic. We should keep our distance.'

Hellscream snapped. He'd spent the last day or two fending off minor raids, with nothing substantial to kill for a very long time. Hellscream wasn't some pacifist trying to avoid needless bloodshed; he loved needless bloodshed! 'Bah!' He snapped 'Am I surrounded only by cowards! It's a tree! Like any other! Cut it down!'

They rushed into the glade, axes wielded. The warrior women put up a strong defense. The wells seemed to fill them with strength as they fired arrow after arrow into the midsts of the orcs. Even so, the onslaught was too great for them to stop. They were soon all slain, or bound in ropes. Hellscream and his warriors hacked the tree to pieces. He could hear some of the elves weeping as the work went on.

Sentimental idiots.

What remained in an hour or so were a lot of logs.

'You see!' said Hellscream as they carried the logs {and the elves.} back to camp. 'The great tree provided us with an abundance of lumber. If we find any more, then we'll hack them apart as well!'

Even as they reached the camp, however, they were beset with a great onslaught of warrior women. This time there walked in their company centaur like women with the bodies of stags. They hurled spears. In the ensuing fighting, many warriors on both sides were killed. Yet it was Hellscream's side that emerged victorious.

More slaves were taken. The warriors of the Warsong Clan had some real fun with these women to celebrate the victory. They weren't any good as warriors. But they were certainly fine to look at. And more.

Even so, part of shamanism was coexisting with nature. Perhaps it would be best to leave the rest of the trees standing, take what they needed and be gone. Yes, Thrall would want him to show restraint here. Taking the warrior women as slaves was simple logic.

They attacked the Horde and lost. So the Horde, as the victor, could do whatever they wanted with them. They should be grateful the orcs had taken a liking to them.

The stores of lumber continued to swell. Several new stockpiles had to be made.

'Good,' said Grom. 'soon we'll have enough to create a proper settlement.' He'd had never been one to enjoy peace, but he acknowledged that it was the goal of his Warchief, at least for a time. The orcs were far fewer in number than they had been, they needed time to regrow their numbers.

There was a definite purpose to this task, menial though it was.

So it was that he waited, and waited as the trees were felled on end. Every so often the elves would come, and the Warsong Clan would engage in battle with the creatures. Always the Warsong Clan emerged victoriously.

And their store of slaves and lumber grew ever larger.

Then once more the waiting would ensue. Grom kept a close eye on the peons work, and after some more days of work, he spoke to them. 'We've nearly hit our quota. Our lumber stores are almost full!'

Now it was only a matter of time before they would be ready to build a settlement.

The day dawned over the corpses of many warrior women, and a warrior arrived with excellent news. 'Chieftan, the harvesting is complete.'

'Good,' said Grom, 'then we'll start constructing the settlement immediately.'

This had been more fun that Grom had expected. The warrior woman hadn't put up nearly as much of a fight as the humans, but that was to be expected. And anyway they were more fun as prisoners. It could be a little warmer, but he couldn't complain.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

And chapter six has been edited.

My alterations to this chapter made Grom a lot more villainous. It seemed to work better thematically that way. And frankly, given that the orcs are a warrior culture, rape of captured women is probably standard procedure. Given what the night elves do later I figured I'd let him provoke them.


	7. The Hunter of Shadows

**Chapter Five: The Hunter of Shadows**  
Later that evening near the Moonglades of Cenarius the furbolgs gathered their strength around a fountain of life, mustering their courage as the rumor of lumbering feet echoed through the trees. A feral growl sounded throughout the forest as Mannaroth and Tichondrius appeared within view. As the demons approached, the furbolgs panicked and fled, scattering here and there. All save one who remained in place, torn between survival and duty.  
The choice was ultimately made for him, as Mannaroth cleaved him in twain with one blow of his weapon, before stepping over his bloodied corpse. 'Ashenvale forest,' said Mannaroth 'after ten thousand years I still recognize this cursed place! This is the vale of our ancient enemy, the night elves demigod, Cenarius!'  
'Yes,' agreed Tichondrius 'Lord Archimond demands that Cenarius be destroyed before we launch the invasion of Kalimdor.' What Tichondrius did not say was that the undead scourge verged on collapse, while the humans were regrouping for a second war. The battle for Lordaeron was far from the mop up which had been expected, and Archimond was not entirely pleased with Tichondrius' results.  
'I would relish the chance to face him again in combat,' reflected Mannaroth, who remained ignorant of these machinations. 'yet he is crafty and rarely appears in the open.'  
'Fateful as it sounds,' said Tichondrius 'your pet orcs have recently despoiled these forestlands and incurred his wrath. Lord Archimond and I believe that the orcs are capable of killing Cenarius for us.'  
'They would have little chance against Cenarius,' reflected Mannaroth 'if memory serves his powers were quite formidable.'  
'Yes,' admitted Tichondrius, as what might have been a smile crossed his face. 'but so are yours. The blood pact you made long ago with the orcs still binds them to you. You need only recharge their energies.'  
Mannaroth turned to face Tichondrius in full. 'Just what are you suggesting, Dreadlord?' asked the Pit Lord with an inquisitive glimmer in his eyes.  
'Spill your burning blood into this pool.' said Tichondrius, motioning to the pool. 'Its corruption will lure the orcs to it. And once they have tasted your blood, they will be unstoppable.'  
Mannaroth did not verbally reply. Instead he loomed over the spring, and cut one massive hand with the blade of his weapons. The blood seeped out black and smoking, and the water became red and clouded with figures of horrors.  
Mannaroth's laughter sounded throughout the night.

* * *

For his part, Arthas was not impressed. It was blatantly obvious that despite their formidable powers, the Demons of the Burning Legion lacked the courage to face their enemies in a fair battle. Rather they manipulated and corrupted others into doing their dirty work for them. His old knightly sense of fair play had Arthas holding them in contempt, and only the will of the Lich King, and his fear of Archimond, kept him from at once turning upon them.  
The whispers of Frostmourne assured him that the time would soon come for retribution, to turn the plans of their demonic masters against him. Yet not yet, not at this time. The Legion must be drawn into a trap of their own making.  
Not yet.  
Vengeance would have to wait. And yet Arthas reflected that vengeance had not exactly had a positive effect on his life. He'd lost practically everything he'd ever cared about for revenge, and now he was serving demons, plotting to destroy them to avenge being slighted. The whispers of Frostmourne no longer held the same appeal that they once had.  
Bitterly he continued to watch.

* * *

In the aftermath of the Warsongs attaining their lumber quota, things began to slow down. The warrior woman evidently did not think their woodlands worth getting slaughtered anymore and had ceased their raids, retreating deeper into their diminished forests. The furbolgs who dwelled there also retreated. The dancing lights disappeared, and victory seemed theirs. Before long new groups of orcs, following in Hellscream's footsteps began to arrive and erect their shelters beyond the river. In the cool shade of the green lands, peons made new settlements and began to establish what might one day become a village.  
Hellscream made his fortress just beyond it, wary of some resurgence of strength from the warrior woman. The canny old orc was smart enough to know that things were not yet over. Yet even so he quickly found himself stretched thin. Far more peons than warriors were coming to Ashenvale, for the warriors were caught up fighting quillboars while the peons sought comfort and security. Hellscream kept glancing warily to the woods, obviously contemplating the weakness of his position.  
Yet the warriors and peons were beyond overconfident. They no longer even set a guard upon their logging camps. They felled trees without reason, and did all they could to provoke. Even from the zeppelin, Arthas could sense some mustering power, biding its time. It would only be a matter of time before their arrogance came back to bite them. Now the only question was whether or not they would take Mannaroth's bait.  
The next morning in the shadowed woods of Ashenvale peons were busy at work hewing trees, when suddenly a shadow was cast over the woodlands, and a voice cried out, clear and wrathful: 'Who dares defile this ancient land?!' It asked. 'Who dares the wrath of Cenarius and the Night Elves?!'  
And then, without warning, the trees came to life. They tore apart the peons who had moments before being hewing them and charged. A warrior on watch looked up and raised his axe. 'The forest is coming alive!' he called. 'We're under attack!'  
'Let battle be joined!' cried Cenarius, his voice like distant thunder.  
From where he stood atop his perch across from the river, Grom Hellscream knew that things would go badly long before they did. 'Warrior!' he said 'Go to the villages and begin evacuating everyone you can! Tell them to leave the villages!'  
'But-'  
'Do it! While there is still time!' said Hellscream, before turning to his lieutenants. 'You men, get all the warriors together, rally everyone you can for battle! We must be ready to repel them from this position!'  
Even as he spoke the night elves surged out of the trees to aid the treants, and together they tore through the villages. The screams of woman and children echoed as the warriors were overrun. A child's mother was pierced through the throat with an arrow, before the baby was cast to have its skull smashed on the rocks. The warriors were cut down, though a tightly knit group of them held their own.  
'Their numbers are too great!' cried one 'We must fall back to the other side of the river!'  
Yet even as he spoke he and his comrades were cut down. As refugees fled from the oncoming tide, other stubbornly refused to leave their land and were soon cut down. Flames rose high into the night as men, woman and children were carved and butchered without mercy, without pity. Hellscream watched the ongoing carnage, scarcely able to believe the brutality with which it was carried out.  
'Demons spawned wretches! You will all die!' proclaimed Cenarius.  
It was a moment of self realization that beset Hellscream as he watched things play out. This was not the old enmity with humans which he now faced. He remembered the humans, and he realized suddenly that had the likes of Uther Lightbringer been in this position, they would not have done what this Cenarius animal was now indulging in. Uther would have locked them away, taking away their pride and honor. Yet he would not have butchered woman and children without mercy.  
'I defeated your kind in ages past!' proclaimed Cenarius 'And I shall do so again!'  
The orcs never returned the favor. Hellscream suddenly realized that the humans had spared them. They could have exterminated the orcs down to the last child after the second war, but they had chosen not to. Why? What deed had the orcs done to warrant such mercy? Nothing, and Hellscream was confident that had the Horde emerged victorious, they would have slaughtered all the humans eventually. Even those in Alterac which had aided them.  
The second village had fallen, and only a few escaped it. That left the third, and Hellscream knew there would be no survivors. They were too far from the fords, and they stood alone and without allies, far from help. And there was nothing that Hellscream could do to help them. All he could do was watch helplessly as an entire village was butchered, and hope that he had sufficient warriors to hold back the tide.  
He hated this, and from that hatred awoke both a yearning for the old days of battle and butchery, when things had been so much simpler, and also a desire that things had been… different in the old days. He did not know how, perhaps if the Horde had made different choices, or been more like Thrall. Or perhaps if they had won the second war.  
'You cannot defeat me!' called Cenarius 'I am the heart of the land!'  
Whatever the case, he tightened his grip on his axe. He had a duty to survive, and keep his warrior alive for the sake of the New Horde. 'Prepare for combat, my warriors.' he said 'We must gain victory for the Horde!'  
Then he saw him standing upon a mountain, and what little enthusiasm had been mustered fell to pieces. Cenarius was a gigantic centaur, the likes of which had been seen many times before. Yet he was far larger than any that had come before him, and he had green hair. His eyes were glowing yellow, and he held in a hand a gnarled staff coursing with power.  
Cenarius raised his staff over his head. In moments green consumed the world. Dead stumps rose again as full trees, as foliage that had been cut back regrow in mere moments. Moss grew over the corpses of orcs, until they were no more, and across Hellscream's field of vision he saw all the efforts that had been made to tame a land destroyed in mere moments. 'Now my warriors, cleanse these brutes from the wilds! I will watch over you from the forest!'

The peons had begun to erect defenses to stop the oncoming wave. They now stood perched on towers with many short bows. Hellscream desired to send forces to support them, but the western approach was too exposed. He would keep the bulk of his forces here. For three days they heard no sound or sign of Cenarius. For three days the night elves mustered as their walking trees created new groves in the forest lands.  
For three days they waited for what Hellscream began to suspect would be their last battle.  
Then the assault fell with fury unmatched. Hellscream led his forces against the oncoming swarms of warrior woman, who hurled glaives into the melee, slaying many grunts before they could reach the enemy line. Giant dragon like creatures with two heads spat acid down upon their ranks to kill many. Then battle was joined, and on both sides the casualties were terrible. Hellscream tore through several panther and warrior woman, only to look north and see that the enemy were breaking through the towers. Rushing from one fray to another, Hellscream went into a trance, unleashing his full fury in a bladestorm that tore through the enemies before him like a scythe through wheat. At last he stood over the bodies of his enemies, yet the towers had been cast down and the defending peons slain.  
Returning to his defense, he found that most of the garrison he had gathered were dead. It would take time to call more in from the other regions, time he did not have.  
The troll leader appeared from the shadow of the woods, clutching a spear. His name was Vol'jin, and he was shrouded by a cloth over his face and very muscular. 'Hellscream, I sense a dark power emanating from the wilderness.' Vol'jin said 'It might be the key to destroying Cenarius.'  
It was too easy. Far too easy, reflected Hellscream to himself. Yet a large part of himself was tempted to seek it out, to find the darkness that this troll spoke of. He thought about what Thrall would do in this situation. Thrall likely would have gone out of his way to avoid unnecassary carnage, and Hellscream realize he had done that. Despite the darkness of the situation a faint smile came to Grom's face as he realized his young friend had rubbed off on him. 'We do not need such powers, we are orcs!' Then he turned to address his soldiers. 'Warriors! We will begin construction of towers to stop the onslaught of Cenarius.' he looked to the river. 'We will begin construction on the far side.'  
'We will need many men for enough towers.' noted Vol'jin.  
'Then call up the refugees from the villages, have them work on it.' said Grom 'This will be their opportunity for vengeance!'  
Gathering workmen, he began construction of mighty towers, as they called up additional reinforcements. Even as they worked, however, the night elves came out of the trees, firing arrows and hurling glaives. Several warriors fell in the first few moments, yet then the rest of the Warsong Clan arrives and overwhelmed them. After a few terrible moments of fighting, the night elves withdrew into the wood. 'I yearn to face humans!' snapped Grom in the aftermath. 'The elves seem talented only when facing unarmed woman and children!'  
That got a number of chuckles, but only from the warriors. The peons, meanwhile, worked with grim determination, putting up great logs to form the base of the towers. As they progressed, Grom turned to Nazgrel. 'Nazgrel, call up the peon militia. They will man the towers.'  
The peon militia had been formed by Thrall in response to the humans teaching their peasants to fight. All peons were taught to shoot bows, and hurl spears in defense of their homes. They were useless on the offensive, but in holding ground they were invaluable to the warriors.  
'I do not like this, Chieftan.' said a warrior. 'Why should we rely on a fortification when we could take the battle to our enemies. We should seek out this dark power that the troll spoke of-'  
'Weak minded coward!' snapped Grom 'We will defeat Cenarius by our own strength! He draws his strength from the woods, and we have much of that. Perhaps we might turn his power against him with towers made from his forest.'  
'Chieftain I don't think that works,' said the warrior 'he is a demigod.'  
'He be right, mon,' said Vol'jin 'this strategy makes no sense.'  
It was at this point that an assault was launched by the night elves. Giants formed of living wood trod through the forest towards the defenses, and archers marched with them. Even as they approached however, vast flurries of arrows were unleashed by the towers. The archers fell in moments, the panthers were killed moments later. The giants of wood were peppered with arrows, and after a few more moments moaned, before collapsing into splinters. Hardly an arrow had been loosed against them.  
A peon arrived. 'Chieftain, the elves have been slain.'  
'You see!' laughed Grom 'Our defenses are without fail! Long have the warriors fought to destroy the enemies of the Horde! Now is the time for the peons to come out of their burrows and take up their bows to defeat the evil Cenarius!'  
There was a long pause. Finally the warrior spoke. 'If the peons kill everything, what will be left for us to fight?'  
'Well obviously the demons.' said Grom with a shrug. 'Take heart, for you are all warriors now! Now return to constructing the towers, we have much work to do!'  
'Yes Chieftain.'  
The peons scurried back to their defenses. Grom turned to a warrior. 'Have the bulk of our warriors stand by at the crossing further down the river. And send a catapult to support those towers. These elves have been totally unimpressive so far, but even they may possess siege equipment.'  
If the elves had siege equipment, they did not use it. As the defenses became steadily more formidable, rising into a cluster of towers interconnected by walkways another assault was waged. This one was led by creatures bearing spears with the upper bodies of woman, and the lower bodies of stags. They were assisted by elves, and they died in droves. After an hour of brutal combat, all they had succeeded in doing was destroying the foundation of a half complete tower. And in return they had suffered massive casualties.  
'The peons have done well,' said Grom, before turning to one of the other peon chiefs. 'begin founding a new village to take in the refugees from those we lost. I want our warriors to have food and proper lodging after victory is won.'  
'Yes chieftain.  
Suddenly there came cries from further down the river, and Grom looked down to see that the night elves had attacked them from their less defended side. Rushing down to meet them, he joined his warriors in battle and cleaved a wooden giant in twain, before hacking through a line of archers with ease. The assault was quickly repulsed, and the night elves withdrew.  
Finally Grom looked upon the massive fortifications which had been raised, and motioned to his warriors. 'The trap is prepared! Now we need merely goad the beast! Come my warriors! We shall assault the night elves at once!'  
A cheer rang through the warriors as they marched out, yet it felt hollow. The aura of Cenarius was everywhere around them, and they dreaded to approach him without some kind of help. Marching past the defenses, Grom noticed that an assault had fallen upon the towers and damaged many badly while leaving one in ruins. The elves were beginning to get smart in their assaults, it was now or never. He hoped the peons could fix the towers before he brought Cenarius back upon them.  
Even as they mustered, however, the night elves launched their assault. A pitched battle ensued, as two headed beasts spat acid down upon them. Trolls hurled spears while the peons launched their shafts as the ground war went back and forth. Finally the enemy were destroyed, and Grom looked to his warriors. They were afraid. Something about this place was affecting them, calling back that timid nature which had possessed them in the internment camps. Grom once again considered going after the dark power he had sensed in the wood, perhaps it would provide him with power enough to gain victory. Yet that would be going against everything Thrall had taught them, and Grom was determined that he would not give into such corruption until it became necessary for survival. Nothing good ever came of it, or so history said.  
Marching into the woods and up a hill, they launched their assault.

As they emerged into the glade, they found Cenarius waiting for them, just as though he had been expected. He looked at them in a combination of derision and contemplation. Hellscream and his warriors stopped before him, ready for battle. 'The demons did their job well.' he noted 'You creatures are as reckless and bloodthirsty as they ever were!'/p  
'We orcs are free, demigod!' proclaimed Grom.  
'Is that what you tell yourselves?' asked Cenarius in amusement. 'Despite what you may believe, you orcs are no better than the malignant bile which flows through your veins.'  
Without further words the two sides converged on one another, and this time things went badly for the orcs. Cenarius cast spells that slew many of the orcs before they could come within range, and their archers bows found their marks. Beasts devoured the orcs, while Grom fought desperately to stem the tide. Finally when the night elves were wholly committed, Grom raised his axe. 'Fall back, my warriors! Fall back!'  
And they fled. Yet Cenarius raised his hand and many entangling roots reaches up and grasped warriors near the edge of the line. Grom turned back to hack a warrior free, and was soon entangled himself. Behind him the retreat became a route, and Grom hacked himself free from the vines before fleeing. Yet an arrow was shot out from the forest and caught him in the shoulder. By sheer adrenaline Grom made it to a safe distance, then collapsed against a tree in pain. His warriors were fleeing, and the night elves were in pursuit.  
There was still a chance to make their sacrifice worth it.  
Turning to Cenarius, he motioned in challenge, and the demigod pursued. Down the hills they fled, until Grom was reunited with his warriors. They were few in number now, many had been killed in the fray. Yet looking back, Grom realized that Cenarius was retreating.  
'Quickly my warriors!' he cried 'We must draw the demigod into the trap, or all this was for nothing!'  
Gathering the few soldiers he had, Grom led his forces into view of Cenarius. Cenarius summoned treants, and battle was joined between the Warsong and the living trees. After a brutal bloodletting, Grom remained the only one on the field. Cenarius scoffed in contempt, and, whether because he had realized Grom's plan, or simply out of contempt, turned and retreated back up the slope.  
Countless warriors had died for nothing. Grom made his way back, miserable and feeling terribly old. The arrow in his shoulder pained him badly, and needed tending. Yet as he reached the camp, he saw that the night elves were pressing the attack downriver and that area was virtually undefended. If they got through, they would surely butcher the orcs like they did the other villages. Grom felt terribly weak, yet mustering all the strength that remained to him he rushed down towards them.  
He would protect his clan.

* * *

It was inevitable now. Grom had done everything in his power to stop Cenarius, which was more than Arthas had done. Bitterly Arthas wondered what might have happened had he and Muradin stayed to fight Mal'ganis to the bitter end. Would the Dreadlord have truly been invincible? Or might victory have been gained without the need for Frostmourne at all.  
The whispers intensified around him, and Arthas looked at the blade with blue green eyes. The whispers passed through him until only he and the sword remained. To even think of the plan he now made took all his power. It was too late for him, really. Yet it was not too late for the Warsong Clan.  
Against the will of the Lich King, he took hold of a shade and sent it to watch over the pool.  
For the rest of his life, Grom could not remember how exactly he had managed to fend off the enemy. Yet he had done so single handed, and without the assistance of any of his warriors. What he next remembered was being tended to by a peon, while Vol'jin looked over him.  
'Hellscream, we have tried everything to stop Cenarius.' said Vol'jin 'We must seek the power I sensed.'  
Hellscream breathed out. He had done things Thrall's way long enough, and it had been a disaster. The time had come to try alternative.  
He arose. 'Yes, you are right. Let us take a few warriors and seek out the power you speak of.'  
Gathering a group of warriors, he set out into the woods north of them at an enormous speed. It was a perilous journey, for massive wolves were on the prowl. Hellscream and his warriors slew them in a mighty battle. Yet their path led straight through a village of furbolgs and they were forced to slay several in order to get by. Even so they pressed on, fighting only when they had to. The Warsong seemed reluctant to do this, but Grom pressed on.  
With every step he drew closer to the source of the power, he felt his power growing.  
Finally they came to many satyrs who wielded glaives and dark magic of the sort the Horde once used. Engaging them in battle, Hellscream hacked his way through them alongside his warriors. They fought well, but were ultimately overwhelmed. So it was that Grom pressed on through the wilds, until at last he encountered a Satyr who summoned to him many undead. During a brutal combat, Hellscream cleaved his skull and pressed onward past his destroyed minions. Yet within the next glade they found countless more such skeletons and these too they had to fight.  
Yet Hellscream was enjoying himself. He knew things were grim, that his warriors were fighting a life or death battle against total annihilation, yet wasn't that how it should be?! It was in the darkest hours that ones true virtues came out to the forefront. With this in mind he pressed onwards, looking forward to his next fight. A little ways on, they found a pool which they drank of gratefully. Their strength was restored over a few hours, and then they travelled onward in high spirits.  
On they travelled, to their next challenge!  
And there it lay, the source of the aura. Its water radiated darkness, and the land around it was tainted. Before it they faced a large force of satyr's arrayed before them. Their leader loomed tall and confronted them.  
Hellscream rushed forward with his warriors, and began to wield his axe like a hurricane of blades. Dozens of the satyr's fell in moments, yet from their corpses arose skeletons who continued to fight. Hellscream himself faced the leader, and they dueled back and forth and around with neither able to gain the better of the other.  
'Foul orcs!' cried the satyr, kicking Grom in the face to send him staggering back. 'The burning masters charged us with protecting this well! You are unworthy of drinking from these dark waters!' He unleashed a flurry of attacks that Grom was hard pressed to defend against.  
'I don't care who you are, or what you serve,' Grom wiped the blood from his mouth. 'but no one bars my way!' With a battlecry he rushed forward and cleaved the satyr in half.  
After many minutes of terrible fighting all the satyrs lay dead, and Hellscream and his warriors turned to examine the pool. Vol'jin moved forward to look into it. 'The pool emanates great power! But I smell the stench of a demon curse about it!'  
Hellscream scoffed. 'Bah, I am cursed already! If I must drink from these waters to defeat Cenarius, then I will!'  
'No!' cried a warrior 'That goes against everything the Warchief teaches us! We can't let rage overcome us again!'  
'Warchief Thrall,is young and naive!' snapped Grom 'His teachings have seen many of us dead! No warrior, we must embrace our rage as never before! We must become the vessels of destruction that we were meant to be!' And he turned to drink of the pool.  
'That would be a grave error, Grom Hellscream.' said a voice, cold and sardonic.  
Grom halted, and turned to see a spectral figure approaching them. It had pale hair, and was clad in black armor and held in its hand a runeblade. Something of its design was familiar. 'A death knight,' realized Grom 'I thought your kind were exterminated in the second war.' He noted the humans chest rising and falling. 'You still breath.'  
'I am… different from those who came before.' stated the human 'I am here to sway you from making the worst mistake of your life.'  
'Speak your peace and be done with it, spectre!' snapped Grom 'I have a war to wage!'  
'Take your forces and withdraw from Ashenvale this very day.' stated the Death Knight simply.  
'Retreat?' asked Grom 'That is the advice of a coward.'  
'I prefer to think of it as a tactical withdrawal.' stated Arthas simply. 'Cenarius is the only coward here. He will never face his enemies in a fair fight, so he will not pursue you beyond the borders of this land. You have the lumber you sought, simply withdraw.'  
'And lose the battle?!' snapped Grom 'Submit to defeat?!'  
'You stand nothing to gain by victory,' said the death knight 'so yes.'  
'The human is right, Hellscream.' said Vol'jin 'We need not face Cenarius today. Let us withdraw from this place, and force him to come to us.'  
For a long time Hellscream remained silent, unsure of his course. To withdraw from Ashenvale made sense, and they had already completed their mission. They had slain many elves. Yet to admit defeat… his pride would not allow it. 'I do not need the advice of damned spirits and cowards!' he snarled 'Begone from here!'  
'You will regret this choice Hellscream.' stated the death knight. 'We all will.'  
Then he was gone.

Without further words, Hellscream turned and cupped the water in his hands, drinking it down. As he did so his skin turned red, and he grew two feet taller as he loomed over them. Turning around, he felt power flowing through his veins like never before! 'Yes! I feel the power once again! Come, my warriors! Drink from the dark waters and you will be reborn!'

* * *

Arthas stopped watching after that point in disgust. Hellscream had had nothing to gain by pursuing this battle, not even vengeance. Yet for the sake of his pride he had refused his chance to depart. There was only one way things would go now. A profound bitterness beset him, as he reflected on the coming doom for all things. Hellscream would slay Cenarius, and with that victory the Legion would be one step closer to total domination over this world. He looked at Frostmourne testing the weight of the sword.  
It had taken everything he had to try and sway the chieftain to abandon his attack. Yet it had not been enough. Perhaps the destiny of all things was to be corrupted and die. Mentally he returned to the shade, which had followed the orcs as they called their warriors to drink of the waters. The trolls were slipping away into the darkness, unheeded, while Grom spoke with a warrior.  
'Chieftain, these creatures press us hard!' said the warrior 'And their demigod Cenarius still lurks in the forest! How can we possibly defeat him?'  
'Weak minded coward!' snapped Grom 'Nothing is invincible! If we are to live, then this Cenarius must die!'  
Yes, that was just about proceeding as expected. Arthas only hoped Tichondrius was unaware of his attempt, or things might prove dangerous.  
The orcs had been oddly quiet since Cenarius had driven them away. Their leader had ceased to construct the defenses he'd hoped to lure Cenarius to. It had been her suggestion that he avoid following them. From where she watched from atop Mount Hyjal, Tyrande Whisperwind wondered if they meant to withdraw, as the night elves mustered for a second assault. Groups of warriors could be seen making their way north through the forests towards a place he sensed corruption. Yet still nothing happened.  
Then, all of a sudden, the silence was broken by the beating of many drums.  
The greenskins rushed from their bases, now with flaming eyes and red skin. They overran the defenses with sheer fury, hacking and slashing without mercy as they rushed through the sacred groves. Yet they did not stop to plunder and murder. Instead they murdered those who opposed them and charged up to face Cenarius himself.  
Unable to run, Cenarius made his stand. He killed many orcs, and the night elves came to air him, yet the orcs surrounded him, aiming only for him as they hacked him without mercy until at last he fell dead. Around him lay the corpses of hundreds of orcs, yet they paid no heed to their casualties.  
The orcish leader stood atop the demigods corpse. 'The demigod has fallen!' he proclaimed 'The warsong is supreme!'  
It was fortunate that Cenarius could not truly be killed. Even so, it could take years before he was restored to life again. Victorious, the orcs hewed his body with many cruel strokes, before at last returning past the desecrated groves to their camp. In the chaos that resulted, something happened, for the orcs departed Ashenvale Forest that very day.

* * *

In the aftermath of his victory, Grom suddenly found himself oddly pensive. He found his thoughts still clouded by a certain malice, and filled with designs to rule the Horde for himself. It was unnatural, and the words of the spirit echoed in his mind. As he returned to camp he suddenly halted as a terrible figure he had seen in his nightmares stepped forward before him. Thrall had believed in him, believed in the orcs.  
'Hello again, Grommash.' said the hulking demon as the shadows grew longer.  
'Mannaroth…' said Grom 'It can't be.' Yet he didn't know what burned within their souls.  
'I've come to bring you and your brethren back into the fold.' explained Mannaroth in a voice that was almost affectionate. 'Though you orcs failed the Burning Legion once before, you will now serve us once again!'  
'No!' said Grom, stepping back as he tried to keep the fear from his tone. 'We… are free.' Even as he said it, his voice and will failed him. He was tainted once more with demonic powers, and his will was not his own.  
Mannaroth laughed. 'Stupid pitiful creature. I am the rage in your heart. I am the fury of your thoughts. I alone empowered you to bring chaos to this world, and by the endless void you shall!'

The spell was complete.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Sorry this chapter is so late, I actually had it complete way ahead of time, but my computer stopped being able to post anything on for reasons beyond my comprehension. In the end I had to transfer it to another computer as a word document, and post it by that. And then the formatting got all fucked up, and I had to spend thirty minutes getting rid of all the code. The punchline? There were two versions of this chapter, detailing alternate possibilities and I ended up picking the wrong one. So I had to start all over again. It was a nightmare, really.

Well here we have it. Fun fact, I actually made myself a challenge which could have changed the entire course of the story. I was planning to try and kill Cenarius without using the demon blood, which is entirely possible within the context of the mission. If I had done that, I would have had to write a story where the Blood of Mannaroth never gets drunk by the Warsong.  
Of course I wasn't able to actually do that, so things more or less stick to canon. The key difference is that there are a bunch of furbolg villages still alive at the end of it.  
Also, is it just me, or is the entire orc campaign a complete shaggy dog story? I mean its supposed to be about the orcish hordes redemption, by destroying the demons that corrupted them. Instead the orcs go right back to being savage genocidal monsters of their own free will within a few years.  
Frankly I think Azeroth would be better off if King Terenas had simply wiped the species off the map. Cenarius would still be alive, and so would the whole furbolg race, and the world wouldn't be constantly dragged into pointless wars between the Alliance and Horde, since the Horde wouldn't exist.  
I guess what I'm saying is that Daelin Proudmoore was basically right. He has been vindicated by history. Maybe I should do an AU fic based around that./p  
Just for the record, the casualty count for this chapter was as follows:  
Orc kill count: 155  
Night Elf kill count: 19  
Keep in mind that the orcs had to kill a bunch of wolves and satyrs, so the real amount of dead night elves is closer to one hundred and thirty. Which means that roughly six night elves died for every orc, not counting the defenseless woman and children they slaughtered. A statistic which I regrettably cannot record.  
Not even kidding here. Night Elves suck.


	8. Where Wyverns Dare

**Chapter Six:**

Jaina Proudmoore faced down the Centaur before her, holding her staff quite steady as the massive creature before her examined her. The two of them continued to stare at each other for a time, until finally the Centaur relented.

'What business do you have in our lands, and why have you come?' asked the Centaur.

'We come seeking the Oracle.' stated Jaina 'And desire to speak with him. Naturally we would not dream of going through your territory without your permission. So I have sought you out, to ask that you give us safe passage to the top of Stonetalon Peak.'

The Centaur were currently involved in a bloody war with the Orcs, which meant that they could hardly afford to make new enemies. The Khan remained silent. 'What will you give me, if I allow you to pass unhindered?' he asked finally.

Jaina was not so naive as to believe he would not have a price. So she motioned to her guards, and three large chests were brought forth and opened. Within lay glittering piles of gold, spilling out of the chest. The Centaur moved forward, and passed his hand through it. He looked up, and smiled.

'You may pass at your leisure.'

'My thanks, Great Khan.' said Jaina 'I'm glad we had this chat.'

They pressed onwards up the peak, unharmed. Several times they saw Harpies flying overhead, yet the beasts did not close on them. One of the soldiers approached Jaina. 'Lady Proudmoore, why are we working with these beasts?'

'We are simply avoiding senseless bloodshed.' said Jaina 'Besides, if the orcs come this way looking for a fight, the Centaur should keep them off our backs.'

* * *

At that same moment, near the base of Stonetalon Peak, a single zeppelin flew across the skies above, and within it an orc gazed over everything below them. As it flew, gryphon riders flew towards it, hurling hammers against the sides that dented it. Arrows from below were fired from towers, lodging themselves in the woodwork as the zeppelin retreated. Eventually the zeppelin fled back, returning to the Hordes encampment.

Nazgrel made his way out of the zeppelin and approached a tent. 'I must speak with the Warchief,' he said.

'He is meditating,' said a Shaman 'and cannot be disturbed.'

'I am returning from a mission he dispatched me to personally.' said Nazgrel 'I must speak with him.'

'The Warchief will see no one until-'

The tent parted and Warchief Thrall emerged. Although he was small for an orc, standing no more than five feet nine inches, everyone fell silent as he approached. 'Its all right, shaman. Nazgrel, what news do you bring?'

'Warchief,' said Nazgrel 'we scouted the peak as you ordered. The humans have entrenched their fortifications all the way up to the summit.'

Thrall closed his eyes, and breathed out. 'This is an odd move for them to make.' he said at last. 'Had they been seeking a confrontation we could have had it out long before now.'

At that moment a low rumbling could be heard, and a force of Tauren came into view, led by Cairne Bloodhoof. The old tauren approached Thrall, and bowed slightly. 'Ish-ne a-do por-ah young Warchief.'

'Cairne,' said Thrall, eyes lightening. 'what brings you to this place?'

'Our debt to you orcs can only be repaid with blood.' explained Cairne as he planted his halberd in the ground. 'We've come to help you reach the oracle. However those metal clad pink skins look like trouble.'

'Those pink skins are called humans,' said Thrall 'there is a long and bloody history between them and us. We departed their lands to escape that history.' He glanced up to the peak. 'From the looks of things it was a futile effort, for they are intent on keeping us from the Oracle.'

'Hmm,' mused Cairne 'the Oracle's wisdom belongs to all. Perhaps the wyverns that live nearby can be of use to us. They have no love for hostile intruders.'

'Perhaps so,' reflected Thrall 'though it doesn't really matter. Nazgrel, I want you to take your zeppelin and begin scouting the area more fully. Cairne, let us take our forces a way to the west.'

The Horde made their way, following their orders. It was not long, however, before they encountered Thunder Lizards, great beasts which fired lightning from their mouths. The horde attacked them, and did battle. Several warriors were burned to death, while others were scattered, yet before long they got into melee. Here the Tauren proved their worth, smashing them aside with might blows of their beasts were cut down after a few minutes of fighting, and those that remained retreated.

They made their way a bit farther west and then south and finally came to a fountain that should have healed their wounds. Yet as they came to it, Thrall looked into the waters and saw only corruption. Visions of a goddess blessing the waters went through his mind, and he stepped back. 'This place has been defiled, I sense that the spirits have fled.'

'No doubt this is the work of the vile harpies.' said Cairne 'This fountain was in ancient times blessed by the Goddess Elune. Though I do not know how we might purify it.'

Visions filled Thrall's mind, and he felt as though the force which had aided them before against the Centaurs was now working through him. He suddenly knew what needed to be done, more than anything. 'There is a Centaur Khan nearby,' said Thrall 'he is connected to this somehow. We must slay him, in order to restore the Fountain.' It was against Thrall's instincts to fight an offensive war, yet he felt now as though this needed to be done. 'Come Cairne, let us seek this Centaur.'

They had not gone far north before they suddenly came across a terrible sight. A group of wyverns were caught in nets and dragged down. Many harpies flew around them, dragging them away before their eyes.

'The Harpies have enslaved the wyverns!' said Cairne in grim horror.

'Be warned old fool! Stonetalon Peak is ours!' proclaimed the Harpy Leader 'Neither the humans nor these brutes shall leave this place alive!'

Then battle was joined. The trolls hurled their spears to pierce the harpies, as Thrall sent bolt after bolt of lightning to destroy the creatures in midair. Several trolls were killed,and a number of Tauren were slain by spines. Finally the beasts were slain.

With victory achieved there, Thrall brought his forces further north, and straight into a vast host of Centaur.

* * *

Jaina Proudmoore saw the battle raging below as the orcs and Centaur charged each other. Turning to one of her officers, she tapped him on the shoulder. 'Take a detachment down there and prepare to assist the Centaur. We should help our allies in his place.'

'Yes milady.' said the Officer.

* * *

The battle raged back and forth, as Thrall summoned two savage spirit wolves to maul the Centaurs. Yet his forces were still recovering from the last battle, and were hard pressed. Many orcish warriors were shot dead with arrows, or hewed with axes. Things became even worse as humans came down the hill, their swords drawn and ready for battle. The orcs were driven back, and began to flee.

'Rally!' called Thrall 'Rally to me!'

The orcs turned from their flight, and fought on. The humans and centaur met them in grim combat. Lightning flashed across the sky as both factions tore each apart. A tauren snapped a Centaurs neck. Cairne stomped the ground to unsteady his enemies footwork, as Centaurs killed a Tauren with their axes. A footman drove his sword through an orcs cut, only to be cut down by one of the other grunts.

Finally the Centaur and humans turned and retreated back up the peak, and all was silent. Through the blood and grime, Thrall and Cairne found one another. The tauren chieftain was nursing an injury on his nose.

'Cairne,' said Thrall 'you are alive then.'

'It will take more than such a skirmish to end me, young warchief.' said Cairne.

'So I suppose.' said Thrall 'Look there!'

Nazgrel's zeppelin flew into view, and landed before them. Nazgrel approached him, and planted his sword into the ground. 'Warchief, I have done more scouting. There appears to be little in the way of defenses on the cliff side of Stonetalon Peak. With zeppelins we might be able to bypass the humans main defenses and seize the peak ourselves.'

'That sounds like the least bloody action.' reflected Thrall 'Even so, we have business to conduct here. Did you see any sign of Centaur villages while you were there?'

'Yes Warchief,' said Nazgrel 'I saw to the east a host of Centaur. Its only a little ways from here. We might well defeat them with minimal effort.'

'I'd rather avoid slaughtering any villages if I can help it.' said Thrall bluntly. 'There must be some way we can kill the Khan without destroying his people.'

'The wyverns might prove to be of assistance here.' noted Cairne.

'Then let us free them, and finish this.' said Thrall.

At that moment there came the sound of gunfire, as Dwarven Riflemen rushed out of the hills. Mortars were launched, and a group of unlucky Tauren were shot down. Battle was joined, as the dwarves and horde fought back and forth. The dwarves refused to flee or surrender, and before long were joined by a force of Knights and Priests, who fought with suicidal valor. After a brutal contest, the Alliance forces were killed to the man.

'I am so sick of fighting the alliance.' snapped Thrall after a moment.

'How did the conflict between your peoples begin?' inquired Cairne.

"We killed them and took their land.' said Thrall 'They killed us and took it back.' There was a bitter silence. 'When does it end?'

'It never ends, young Warchief.' said Cairne sadly.

Thrall did not respond, and led his forces back to the camp, which was rapidly becoming a village. There he met with a force of jungle trolls who had arrived, and greeted them kindly. 'You warriors will gather more of your kind, and follow me. Cairne, remain here with the tauren and orcs. I will deal with the harpies personally.'

'They are difficult to hit with a totem,' said Cairne 'so perhaps your judgement is right.'

Resistance was unexpectedly strong as they made their way west towards the Harpies lairs, drawn by some unknown force. A great host of Quilboars suddenly appeared before them and met them in battle. The combat waged back and forth as the trolls hurled their spears against them. Thralls lightning slew many, yet there were always many more. Wild boars gored trolls to death, as others bashed trolls with maces. When at last victory was won nearly half of the trolls Thrall had brought with him had been killed.

He considered turning away, yet he was impatient to finish this task and pressed further on, hoping he was not making a terrible mistake. Pressing onwards, they finally came to the harpies.

The wretched creatures descended, sending spines down upon them. Spears were thrown in return, and Thrall blasted a group of them out of the sky with chain lightning. Suddenly he found himself falling asleep, his eyes closing as unnatural spells overtook him. A nearby troll bashed him with a spear, and he was once more awake.

Dark magic.

Hurling another bolt of chain lightning, Thrall destroyed the remaining harpies.

It was at this moment that he was rejoined by Cairne, who approached him with more trolls. 'Warchief, the humans have attacked while you were gone. We drove them off, but we lost many warriors in the process. Their leader is a very powerful spellcaster. I have come to aid you in finishing things.'

'Your timing is perfect Cairne.' said Thrall 'Come, let us finish things.'

The final battle with the harpies was surprisingly simple. They faced far weaker foes than before, and though their storm hags proved a nuisance, their power was far less. In a few minutes of battle, the harpies were driven away. Thrall then came to the cages. Raising one hand, lightning struck throughout the cages and the wyverns burst free, flying joyfully too and fro.

'There, these proud beasts will now aid us in reaching the summit.'

'Yes,' said Thrall 'yet first we must contend with the Centaur Khan. Let us return to camp.'

When they returned, Thrall dispatched Nazgrel and a group of orcs riding wyverns to slay the Centaur Khan. He then awaited their arrival. However they soon returned, no fewer, but wounded. Nazgrel landed before him. 'Warchief, we have failed. The Khan escaped us, and was supported by a vast host of archers. We dared not fight them all.'

'Damn it.' cursed Thrall 'Very well, let us do things the old fashioned way.'

The orcs, trolls and tauren left behind the Wyverns and made their way north to assault the hilltop. There they did battle with countless centaur, who met them in brutal battle. The defense on the lower part of the hill was swept away, and the Khan joined the fray with his elite guard. Many on both sides died in vicious combat, yet soon the Khan fell to Cairn's halberd.

Even as victory seemed near, however, a zeppelin arrived and unloaded countless Alliances soldiers who met them in battle. Caught on two sides, the orcs and trolls and tauren fought back to back. For nearly two hours the fighting raged, until at last victory was theirs. They stood surrounded by corpses, and Thrall looked at the face of a centaur youth.

He wondered what his name was, and what his hopes and dreams had been. He turned to his warriors, and found that many had been killed in the battle. Shaking his head, he motioned to them. 'Well done warriors, let use return to camp and purify the fountain.'

They made their way back, tired and exhausted. Thrall went personally to the fountain, and set his hands into it. Suddenly the green water turned sparkling blue, and he was filled with an immense sense of inner peace. Making his way back to his warriors, he brought them down and had them drink of it.

Their spirits were raised by the water, and soon they felt better than they had in weeks.

'Now,' said Cairne 'we must discuss how we are to seize control of the peak.'

Thrall considered the matter. Then he looked to the wyverns, and smiled.

Jaina looked down upon the situation grimly. The Quilboars and Centaurs had been slaughtered, and the Harpies with the orcs remained below, with a clear shot at her lower defenses. It was only a matter of time before their assault came upon them.

It came in a manner she did not expect.

A vast host of orcs came not from below, but above, hurling poisoned spears and riding beasts she had never seen before. The assault was feral, and without mercy. Riflemen were spears, while gryphon riders who met the enemy in battle were savaged. Jaina cast firebolts into the midsts of the enemy, but she knew it would do no good. The bulk of her forces were below, prepping for a ground assault.

'Captain,' she said 'sound the retreat. Let the orcs have the ground.'

'But what of the oracle?' asked the Captain.

'Do as I ask.' said Jaina 'I'll meet the oracle now. Go, quickly!'

Even as the retreat was sounded, the gryphon riders were driven away. Her men were dying around her, as she retreated into the depths of the cave. Not for the last time, she wished that Arthas was here with her.

* * *

Warchief Thrall and Cairne Bloodhoof made their way off the zeppelin with a royal guard as the humans retreated from the peak. As the bulk of the Horde headed off to keep them from returning, they halted suddenly.

'Hold, Warchief,' said Cairne, raising a hand.

A young human, with flowing golden hair now walked before them. And despite himself, Thrall suddenly thought that he had never seen anyone quite so beautiful in his life. She was accompanied by a force of humans, and fled quickly into the cave. 'That must be the young Sorceress that Grom told me about. She's beautiful.' said Thrall before glancing to Cairne. 'What I mean to say that… uh…'

'Exactly what you just said.' deadpanned Cairne.

'It appears she also seeks the Oracle.' said Thrall, deciding to pretend as though he hadn't spoken in the first place.

'Be careful, young Warchief. That cave is a perfect place for an ambush.' noted Cairne.

Thrall laughed. 'I was raised by the humans. I know their stratagems.' He kicked at a stone. 'I only hope this Oracle is worth all the blood we shed to find him.'

They followed the humans into the Oracle. They did not notice a shadow following them.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Well here we go, Chapter Six. In case you haven't noticed, I've basically dropped the weekly update schedule. The be blunt, my current focus is on my Inuyasha Fanfic, Inuyasha of the Band of Seven. I only write the Mercyverse when the mood strikes me, which is once every few weeks.

Now, what to say about this chapter. Well I guess I should say that this mission was way more fun to play than I expected. You'll notice I basically dropped the pacifist run aspect, aside from sparing the human base you didn't have to kill. This is because Thrall decided to drop the pacifist run as well.

As for the change to the last scene, I changed it because I felt like teasing the ThrallXJaina ship. Really, its kind of sad what happened to this pairing. I used to ship it, before I reassessed my opinion of Arthas, and began to ship him and Jaina. Yet it was always a good pairing, and to have it ruthlessly sunk for practically no reason is kind of disgusting.

Next time, we will meet the mysterious Prophet. If anyone has any requests for how the characters will react to the big reveal, now is the time to say them.

The kill count for this mission was:

Orcs: 155

Humans: 23

Ordinarily this would mean that the orcs killed roughly six times as many humans as orcs. However what you have to keep in mind is that I killed loads and loads of creeps. What this means is that its more like I killed three or four times as many humans. So the humans still fought way better than the Night Elves.

Oh, and happy thanksgiving in advance. I'd like to thank all you viewers for your kind reviews, and for reading. Without you guys, I never would have finished Mercy of the Damned, let alone get this far.


	9. The Oracle

**Chapter Seven: The Oracle**

The tunnel led deep into Stonetalon Peak, and down into the earth. Before long a red glow with no apparent source began to illuminate their way as they traveled into the cave. Cairne and Thrall walked with their warriors forward, over rough hewn stone floors. Stalagtites and stalagmites could be seen every so often. Of the humans, they saw no sign and that worried Thrall. For the lack of an ambush only made him feel all the more apprehensive.

Twenty minutes later, inside the caverns of Stonetalon peak they came to a crossroads, and here they halted to consider their choices.

'The path cuts off in different directions.' reflected Cairne.

'Either of those caverns could stretch for miles.' reflected Thrall 'Perhaps we should split up.'

'Very well,' said Cairne, voice somewhat apprehensive. 'be careful young one. There is no telling what ancient creatures lie within the mountains depths.'

'I will Cairne,' Thrall promised him. 'good luck.'

For his part, Arthas sent a shade after Cairne Bloodhoof, and followed Thrall. Despite himself he was becoming worried, because Jaina was almost certain to end up in a pitched battle with these creatures. Thus he continued to stalk the orcs.

Yet he sensed a great many undead within this place. Perhaps they could be of use to him.

* * *

Jana Proudmoore made her way through the darkness, walking with her forces. She had the feeling that she was being followed, and had left several squads behind as a rear guard. Eventually she came into a vast chamber, and looked up at a statue. Then she looked to the shield the statue was creating. Then she sighed as her men walked up behind her. This was going to be a fetch quest, wasn't it?

'I am Aszune, ancient priestess of the moon children-' began the statue.

Jaina teleported her forces across the bridge to save herself a lot of time and trouble.

* * *

They came to a chamber which seemed sentient made. Two great statues stood on either side, carrying great swords. They looked of human design. Thrall came to a great gate, standing locked before them. Motioning to his warriors, he brought his hammer down upon the lock. There was a flash of lightning, and the gate broke open.

Entering into the halls they were at once set upon by a vast host of skeletons. Fiery arrows shot through the air, and one of the warriors with Thrall was pierced through the throat and heart. Then the melee ensued. Thrall called upon two massive spirit wolves which assaulted their enemies, tearing the archers to shreds while the Warriors battled on. Suits of armor wearing maces appeared with great shields to bash his warriors.

Finally, the battle was done, and all the undead were destroyed. Several warriors had died in the process, yet even so they stood victorious.

Desiring to avoid any further casualties, Thrall turned to his warriors. 'Follow up behind me, I will clear the way.' Then he summoned two more wolves and went on. Within the next room they found three men cloaked and hooded. They sent bolts of power against them, burning the wolves. Thrall raised his hammer and sent a bolt of lightning bolts tearing through them. They fell dead, and Thrall looked at their faces.

They looked truly ancient.

He continued on, marching ahead with his spirit wolves while the warriors trailed behind. So it continued, fighting their way through the undead who barred their paths until they came to a great canal which glowed orange. Thrall crossed a bridge which was lined with fire, and over to the other side. Several times they encountered might suits of armor, Death Revenants which did battle with them and proved deadly opponents. Yet these two were soon eradicated by their hands, and Thrall passed on alone.

He soon came to a great throne room, with four seats facing a single great throne. It looked once more of human origin, and Thrall wondered what purpose this room served. Just beyond, past a great door, he came to a waygate. He waited for his warriors to catch up. 'Come, my friends, let us journey onward to whatever fate awaits us.'

They crossed through the waygate.

In the meantime Arthas found himself wondering if he had stepped into a dream. For the revenants which the orcs had dispatched seemed suspiciously similar to the one he had faced outside of Frostmourn's cavern. And things got even stranger, for he soon came into a perfect replica of the Lordaeron Throne room.

Memories of driving his sword through his Fathers throat, as Frostmourne desired, of watching as the plague of undeath obliterated Lordaeron City from within. Of all the horrors that were deal to the citizens by the will of the Lich KIng. Frostmourne's whispers intensified, and yet Arthas found himself turning a deaf ear to them.

This was his responsibility. Not his intention, perhaps, but it was his sword. His actions which had led to it. His fault.

He pressed on and tried to forget it. Yet he failed, in this regard.

Who was this Oracle? And how did they know him?

Thrall passed into a great entry hall, and here found two doors. Choosing between them, he choose the one heading south he broke open the gate and found a great statue. A great shield barred his path east.

'I am Aszune,' said the voice 'ancient princess of the moon-children. None may pass until my heart is returned to me.'

'The statues magic has created an impassible barrier.' said Thrall as his warriors came up behind him. 'I wonder what it means by its heart.' He turned round. 'Come, let us try the area north of here.'

The door opened and Thrall saw ahead of him a force of soldiers lying about unarmed. He motioned to his warriors. 'Stay here, and keep out of sight. I'll go on alone.'

He rushed through the door, and the soldiers snatched up their swords. 'Orcs! Arm yourselves!'

Yet before they could take any action Thrall had already escaped through the door. He came then into a series of cells, and one of the doors burst open to his side. He did not wait to find out what was coming out, and instead made his way to the next cell. There he found a group of jungle trolls imprisoned. Breaking open their cells he greeted them.

'You men,' he said 'go to meet up with our comrades to the west of here. Do not stop to fight the humans, only do battle with them if you must. I want as little death as possible.'

'You got it mon.' said the trolls, before rushing off.

Thrall continued west, stopping only to check the last cell. Within it he could see only a raging inferno, and decided to move on. Whatever could live within such a place would not be his friend.

As he continued on he found many boxes barring his way and had to destroy each one in turn. He crossed over and suddenly came to a group of sheep, milling about. He paused as he walked. 'Thats strange,' he said I don't recall seeing any sheep in this land.' He rushed past them, having a bad feeling about things.

He soon came face to face with a group of elven sorceresses. 'He's fairly bright for an orc.' reflected the elf.

Yet Thrall was too quick. He rushed towards them and burst through their lines before rushing through the halls into another room. Here the ceiling reached up into the sky, opening up to daylight. Within this chamber, a great red dragon was breathing fire, as the harpies fired quills at them.

Thrall considered taking sides but then decided against it. Instead, he waited as the two forces tore each other to shreds. Eventually, the harpies succeeded in slaying the dragon, sending it collapsing to the ground. As they reveled in their victory, Thrall raised a hand and sent a bolt of lighting tearing through the survivors, wiping them out.

Clean, simple. Bloody.

Thrall reflected that he wasn't even bothering with trying to avoid killing the harpies anymore. It was quite depressing. Making his way forward, he found an amulet on the ground near the beasts horde. 'The great beast was protecting a magical amulet. I'd better hold on to this.'

He suddenly had a very real sense that he held in his hand the Heart of Aszune. Yet curiosity led him to go forward towards a waygate which stood before him. Unguarded. After a moments hesitation, he went through it.

He suddenly found himself appearing out of the waygate he had come from, and standing before his very surprised warriors. 'I have what I came for. Let us return the heart of Aszune and be on our way.'

They headed south, and as they did Thrall wondered why the Red Dragons were withholding the heart from the spirit of Aszune. What was their motivation? He shook those thoughts away as he approached the statue and set the necklace around its neck. 'Here is your heart, Aszune. Now, grant us passage to the Oracle.'

As he spoke the shield protecting the way disappeared and Thrall walked to the edge. However a great gulf stood between them and the other side. He sighed. 'Apparently this is some kind of spectral bridge. But the enchanted gemstone that powers it is missing. With any luck, Cairne will find it for us.'

* * *

Cairne and his tauren in the meantime made their way through the cave system, finding nothing and no one. As the pressed onwards it became steadily hotter until they suddenly came into view of many of the metal clad pink skins from before.

'Lets get the hell out of here!' cried a soldier as he and his warriors ran down a path.

'No! Not that way!' cried another.

Spikes shot up to impale a great many of the humans. Cairne and his tauren continued on, feeling a sense of pity for the humans.

'I've had it with skulking in these caves!'

They rushed past the humans, hoping to escape easily. Yet no sooner had they gotten away, they ran into a host of kobolds who rushed them. The tauren formed a formation back to back as they fought both humans and kobolds in battle. Cairne brought round his halberd, and hewing this way and that cleared a path through the kobolds for the tauren braves to move on.

Yet the kobolds and some of the humans pursued them, no matter how far they ran. Eventually Cairne turned and met them in battle.

After a few minutes of combat the humans and kobolds who had been foolish enough to break formation and pursue them were cut down. They continued on, and Cairne looked down into a chamber. It looked to be of a similar design to the one which the humans had rushed into earlier. 'That spiked pit is filled with quillboars. It looks as if their protecting some kind of gemstone.' He had a sudden sense that it was very important.

They continued on, and came to a lever. Cairne looked to it. 'This must activate the trap mechanism.' he said, before pulling it. Instantly spikes leaped out beneath the kobolds, impaling them all in moments. 'A gruesome death,' he said sadly.

He walked to the gate leading into the pit, yet he could not find any way to open it. Their weapons were banged against the bars, yet to no avail. Reluctantly, Cairne and his warriors turned back seeking another way. They found a force of skeletons here, and after a vicious battle, they stopped to mend their wounds.

Here they remained for some hours, before at last coming to a circle of power. Cairne stepped into it, and he heard the sounds of a great door opening. Making their way back they reached the gemstone at last. He picked it up and appraised it. 'The gemstone has an inscription on its base.' he said 'Ah… this is the spirit stone of Stonetalon Chasm. If the legends are true, then this will activate the spirit bridge that leads to the Oracle.'

He led them to a fountain of clear water, where they drank deeply and refreshed themselves. To their left, Cairne could see vast reserves of gold, guarded by kobolds. Yet he decided not to seek battle with them. Instead he went north, and then east across a river. He found a great Salamander waiting, yet he did not confront it. Instead he and his warriors raced past it, and made their way up the steps and into the midsts of a great hall.

As they ran, however, the ground shook and the statues on either side of them moved. 'The statues are coming to life!' proclaimed Cairne as they raced onwards. 'Keep ahead of them!'

Soon they reached a door, yet it would not open. With no other option they turned to fight the statues which came upon them. The battle waged back and forth without end as the giants dueled the creatures of stone. On and on it went, with many terrible blows on both sides. Yet at last the statues collapsed beneath the might of the tauren. In one of the ruined statues, Cairne found a key, and fitting it into the doors lock he turned it and opened it.

They rushed out, and met with their friends the orcs.

'Cairne, we've been waiting for you!' said Thrall 'Have you found anything!'

Cairne did not at once answer, instead walking past him and removing the stone. 'Ah the spirits bridge…' he said 'just as the legends described it. Now, young warchief, the path to the Oracle is revealed!'

The gemstone shone brilliantly and then a great blue bridge of light appeared over the chasm. They quickly made their way over it. Yet no sooner had they done so, they saw the Sorceress from before, along with her soldiers. 'Orcs, I knew we were being follow!' she cried 'Defend yourselves!'

'Stop!' cried a voice, and the Oracle appeared. 'There will be no violence in this place.'

'That voice…' said Thrall 'you are no Oracle! You are the prophet!'

'Very perceptive son of Durotan,' said the Prophet 'I am the Prophet. And now that I've lured you all here, I will tell you what destiny holds.'

'You could have just met me at the beach.' snapped Thrall, in no mood for games.

'Thrall,' said the Prophet 'this is Jaina Proudmoore, leader of the survivors of Lordaeron.'

'Survivors?' asked Thrall 'What are you talking about?'

'The invasion of the Burning Legion has begun,' said the Prophet 'Lordaeron has already fallen, and now the demons come to invade Kalimdor. Only together, united against the shadow, will you be able to save this world from the flame.'

'Unite with them? Are you mad?!' snapped Jaina.

'Have you heard nothing that I've said! The legion comes to undo history and end all life! Thrall, your friend Hellscream has already fallen under the demons influence! Soon he, and your entire race will be lost forever!'

Somehow, in his heart of hearts, Thrall knew what the Prophet said was true. 'No! I'll die before I let that happen!'

'Then you must rescue him immediately! He is the key to the destiny I promised you!' Said the Prophet. 'However you will need help.'

'Wait, this is insane!' snapped Jaina 'You can't possibly expect me to-'

'Destiny is at hand, young sorceress. The time to choose has come. For the fate of all who live, humanity must join forces with the horde.'

There was a long, long silence. History stopped recording their conversation right about this point, and in some universes things did end here. In this one, however, things went a bit differently. Jaina looked at the orcs, then to her men, then to the Prophet.

'Just to clarify,' she said 'this entire thing has been nothing more than one plan to get us to join together?'

'That is correct.' said the Prophet.

'Did you ever consider just **_sending a letter!_** ' roared Jaina 'We've been killing each other all the way up the mountain searching for you! People have died because you wanted to act all mysterious!'

'Actually,' said Thrall 'now that I think of it, the circumstances under which Hellscream fell back into the demons grip only happened because I sent him off on his own. If I had been there I could have stopped it. And I only sent him off on his own because we started a pointless fight with the humans we didn't know we were supposed to ally with.' he paused and looked up to the Prophet. 'So what do you have to say for yourself?'

'There is no time for petty bickering!' said the Prophet 'You must-'

'Oh, no time for petty bickering?!' snapped Jaina sarcastically. 'You mean like there was no time for petty bickering when Grom Hellscream murdered an entire village because you couldn't be bothered to tell Thrall over here we were supposed to team up! For a supposed prophet you really are stupid, you know that!'

'We cannot afford to waste-'

'Why didn't you just tell the Kirin Tor that the plagued grain created undead?!' asked Jaina 'You saw the future, you knew it was going to happen, and you also knew what would happen if Arthas went to Northrend! So why didn't you tell us in advance! If we'd known we could have stopped all of this ahead of time and lived happily ever after!'

'I'll be the first to admit that the defense against the Burning Legion could have been organized better.' admitted the Prophet 'However we have all of us made serious mistakes, and only if we learn from them-'

'The only mistake I made was thinking you knew what you were doing!' snapped Jaina bitterly 'I should have gone with Arthas to Northrend, and made my stand there. Maybe things would have turned out better, its hard to see how they could have turned out worse.' She turned to Thrall. 'Alright, so its obvious that this 'Prophet' has no idea what he is talking about. Even so in light of recent events, I'd like to extend the offer of a truce between our peoples. I have treaties with many of the other races in this continent already. Whats one more?'

'That sounds reasonable.' said Thrall 'I despise unnecessary violence.'

'Then why do you work with a man named Hellscream?' she asked incredulous.

'I'm beginning to wonder that myself, actually.' reflected Thrall ruefully.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

This reason you suck speech is brought to you by Lord22.

Seriously though, I've been waiting for this scene all fanfic. The chance to tear the Prophet a new one is one I've been looking forward to. I'll admit I kind of skimmed this chapter, trying to get through it as quick as possible. I'm really looking forward to the grand finale of this fanfic. I think you'll all be extremely surprised.

Enjoy, and see you soon!


	10. By Demons be Driven Part 1

**Chapter Eight: By Demons be Driven Part 1**  
Jaina Proudmoore and Thrall departed to go about their chosen roles. The Prophet watched them go with the mournful expression of a man who has chosen not to save people because he knew that their fall would inspire a greater good. Then he was alone in his chamber, waiting. Their conversation had gone far worse than he had expected, Jaina Proudmoore was far more perceptive than some would let on. And the Warchief Thrall had clearly lost much of his faith in the Prophet. Even so, as long as they played their parts it didn't matter.  
Yet there remained one more confrontation to undertake, and it was not one the Prophet looked forward to. There were at least few possible universes where he did not survive past this point. 'You can show yourself now, Prince of Lordaeron.' he said in resignation 'They are gone.'  
Out of the shadows came Arthas, walking across the bridge with Frostmourne at his side. Behind him trailed a skeletal steed which looked around nervously, as if sensing the air itself arrayed against it. The Prophet stepped down from his pedestal, reflecting that this was not meant to be. The Prince looked at him with tired eyes, eyes that the Prophet knew all too well. 'Speak your peace and be done with it.'  
'You knew about Frostmourne, didn't you?' asked Arthas 'You were the one who sent the revenant.'  
'Yes,' said the Prophet, allowing his facade to drop. His voice was tired. 'It was an attempt to change destiny. A worthy effort perhaps, but as your presence indicates, futile.'  
'You could have just said that I should under no circumstances whatsoever take up Frostmourne, because it will steal my soul and turn me against my people.' noted Arthas 'The details are everything.'  
'It wouldn't have mattered.' said the Prophet 'You might have told yourself otherwise in your mind, but in your heart you knew the truth about the sword you now bear. You just chose not to listen. I could have inscribed such a message in the stars, and I doubt it would have made a difference. We all have our destiny's to fulfill.'  
'You mean to say that I was destined to bear Frostmourne?' asked Arthas, voice holding an edge of disbelief.  
'Precisely,' said the Prophet 'you were chosen for this task long before you were born. Long before the Lich King was even conceived. I have seen the threads of fate, gazed long into the depths of a thousand different futures. The only futures where you do not take up Frostmourne are those which end in fire, or ones where things are so totally different that you could spend a lifetime searching for any resemblance between our histories. And even in those it sometimes plays a role.  
Destiny cannot be thwarted. Not mine, not yours.'  
'You mean to say that I am essential to the survival of the world?' asked Arthas in sardonic amusement. 'Have you been paying attention to my recent actions?'  
'Yes,' said the Prophet 'yes I have. At the risk of sounding heartless, everything that has happened thus far has been according to plan.'  
Arthas raised Frostmourne, which gleamed mercilessly. 'Explain yourself, Prophet.'  
'…It is a very long story,' said the Prophet 'and I doubt we have time for it.'  
'Make time, fool.' said Arthas, voice hard.  
'Archimond would have gotten into Azeroth sooner or later.' said the Prophet with a sigh. 'It was inevitable. What was not inevitable was his defeat. I saw many possible timelines where Archimond was victorious, because no one allied against him, or because the circumstances were not right. For you see, there are only a handful of ways by which Archimond might be slain by those on this world.'  
'He is that powerful?' inquired Arthas.  
'More than you know.' said the Prophet 'Stronger than his partner Kil'jaden, perhaps approaching even that of Sageras in strength. In order to stop the Legion, it is necessary to force Archimond into rash action at the opportune moment. Yet Archimond is no fool. You have already seen his courage. He holds every advantage now, and yet still he seeks to weaken possible resistance by corrupting Hellscream.  
He will not intervene directly until he is absolutely certain he will be victorious. If a strong alliance were to be raised against him, he would batter it with demons until it fell, never involving himself until it was crushed. The legion numbers in the millions, and he would win in a war of attrition.'  
'You mean…' Arthas paused 'you mean to say that your objective was to ensure that the Alliance and Horde got together in the least efficient way possible so Archimond would not regard them as a threat.'  
'Precisely,' said the Prophet 'if Hellscream were to resist corruption, and the Alliance and Horde were to unify without bloodshed, it might bear better results in the short term. Yet then Archimond would simply bide his time, and systematically destroy the eastern kingdoms. Only when he had secured the whole continent would he strike. He might still be destroyed, but at far greater cost.  
Some must be sacrificed if all are to be saved.'  
'Why are you telling me this then?' asked Arthas 'Don't you fear the possibility that I will reveal your secrets.'  
'No,' admitted the Prophet 'there is no possible future where you do that from this point. Even if you decided to, the Lich King would not allow it. Surely you must have noticed that Ner'zhul is in no position to benefit from Archimond's success?'  
'I have.' said Arthas 'I take it then that I am to undermine the legion at some critical juncture.'  
'You remain perceptive, Prince of Lordaeron.' said the Prophet 'When one sees the threads of destiny, they can no longer concern themselves with right and wrong, good and evil. Mine is a high and lonely destiny.'

A silence engulfed them, as the future moved around them like water. The Prophet saw that the future where Arthas walked away without asking that which he most certainly did not want to be asked was becoming more distant. Arthas was already nearing it.  
'…This truce with the Horde is going to fail.' said Arthas after a moment. 'I don't have to be a prophet to see that. Jaina's expedition will be a disaster. She doesn't have nearly the will to negotiate with orcs long term. And you know it don't you?'  
The Prophet remained silent, and he seriously considered lying. Yet he saw in the Prince before him something of himself long ago. He chose to be honest, with all the futures that entailed. 'Yes,' he said at last 'the orcs bloodlust is not just due to the demons. It will take a very long time for them to move past the old ways, with many relapses. I wish I could say that the Legions defeat will spell the end of it. Yet in truth it will only be the beginning. Endless destruction will be visited upon every race under the sun. The aftermath of the Third War will mark the beginning of one of the darkest periods of Azeroth's history, not the end.  
This world will become a war ground for countless monstrosities, eldritch monsters, demons and countless others. The bloodshed will destroy countless monsters who otherwise might have done great harm. Innumerable worlds that you have never heard of and never shall will be spared the flame because of the battles fought here.  
Yet there will be no happily ever after for anyone, not of this generation.  
Theramore will be destroyed.'  
It was only at this moment that Arthas saw into his heart, and though he did not recognize the name, he knew its meaning all too well. 'You son of a bitch!' he snarled. Frostmourne leaped from his sheath to pass through him, yet Medivh flashed away like a shadow to stand away. 'You brought Jaina and her people here to meet their doom!'  
'It was necessary,' said the Prophet grimly 'without Proudmoore, Thrall would not be able to capture Grom without killing him. Without his example, the orcs would be lost.'  
'Oh glorious!' snapped Arthas 'So my entire Kingdom had to die so that a group of orcish war criminals can continue to be a bunch of unrepentant monsters!' He sent a death coil surging towards the Prophet. A shield of light dispelled the attack.  
'Not all of it.' said the Prophet 'Your people will survive. There is one colony that will survive and thrive over time. You know of it already.'  
Realization dawned. '…Northrend,' realized Arthas 'so I was right all along.'  
'One day the colonies you establish there will rule all of Northrend.' said the Prophet.  
'And to think you tried to talk me out of it.' noted Arthas, suddenly he began to laugh madly, spinning Frostmourne in one hand, the whispers resounding throughout the room. And then he sheathed it and the whispers ceased. 'Tell me, are you associated with the Red Dragon Flight by chance?'  
'Why do you ask?' asked the Prophet.  
'Because you seem to have a similar strategy of masterly inactivity.' noted Arthas, tone tranquil.  
'I am coordinating with the guardians of this world yes.' said the Prophet 'Although they will not be guardians very much longer.'

'Ah so you plan for them to be exterminated for the greater good too then.' surmised Arthas.  
'I am not the Lich King.' said the Prophet coldly. 'I meant to say that their age is passing away. Very soon they will give up their powers in order to pass the torch to the younger races.' The question was very near, and nothing the Prophet had been able to say would deter it.  
'Pass the torch?' asked Arthas in disbelief. 'When did they hold it? All they have done in the last two thousand years is fight on the side of the legion in the second war, and even that was coerced.' he sighed. 'I'm done here. If the Legion is going to be stopped, it won't be stopped by you cowering and talking of the future. Just one more question.'  
'Ask it.' said the Prophet. Fear manifested itself  
'Where is Mannaroth currently located?' asked Arthas.  
The Prophet saw two primary paths which could emerge from that single question. Two different possibilities, one good and one ill, to answer would be to set in motion a chain of events which could lead either to utter ruin, to total salvation. The risk was too great. And he saw an aspect to one path which made him afraid. 'I cannot answer that question.' he said at last. He was only delaying the inevitable.  
'Yes you can.' snapped Arthas 'Where is Mannaroth located?!'  
'Do not ask that question.' said the Prophet, voice desperate. 'The future results could be disastrous. All could be lost!'  
'Do you think I give a damn about possible futures?!' snarled Arthas as he advanced. 'I've lost my fiancee, my people, and the respect of my men because of this damn war! I've had to kill my father, my mentor, and destroy my own order all in the name of your damned machinations! And I'm supposed to care about you making sure an orc gets the kill on Mannaroth! Answer the question!'  
'I cannot tell you.' repeated the Prophet, before turning away.  
The Prophet did so with all the tragedy and mystery which he had mustered in the throne room of Lordaeron. He should have known it was a futile effort. Once Arthas would have let him go, for he had a feeling in his heart that the Prophet was right. That he didn't want to see beyond the question. At this point, however, he didn't give a damn.  
'Don't you turn your back on me, don't you even try to walk away from me you bastard!' snarled Arthas as he grasped him by the shoulder and turned him around to face him. 'Just who the hell do you think you are?! How many people have died because you and the 'guardians' of this world have done nothing to stop the legion?! How many more people will die before you come down off your high mountains and get involved?! Villages, cities, whole countries are being consumed in unholy flame, and you've done nothing!' He set his sword to the Prophet's throat and pressed it there. 'Tell me where Mannaroth is or I'll kill you and tear it from your soul Prophet!'  
Anger burned within the Prophet's heart, anger born of the truth behind spoken and he acted before he spoke. Frostmourne was battered down, and the Prophet gripped Arthas by the throat and drove him back to slam against the wall. Power rose around him, surging with terrible strength that tinted the whole of the chamber red with its strength. His eyes glowed blue with fire. Frostmourne shuddered, its whispers muted by the unyielding strength before it.

'Leave, now.' said the Prophet, fury in his tone.  
'The real Prophet finally shows his vaunted power at last then,' noted Arthas through his grip, unafraid. 'go on. Finish me. I'm not leaving until I get an answer.'  
The Prophet saw his gaze and saw the futures within it. And he realized that there was nothing he could do to stop it. Nothing short of the death of Prince Arthas Menethil here and now would prevent him from doing something reckless all over again. And to kill Arthas here would be just as much of a risk. He saw something else, a change in history which had already unfolded. And the Prophet realized that he had been left with little choice.  
The Prophet stared at him for a long moment, before releasing him and stepping back. He suddenly seemed smaller, diminished and he sighed bitterly as the future made itself known to him. 'I will lead you to Mannaroth as you wish, Prince of Lordaeron.' he said in a resigned tone. 'Yet there will be a price to pay.'

'As usual,' said Arthas, rising up and rubbing his neck. 'what is it?'  
'The Lich King will not be able to control the scourge in the future.'  
'Thats it?' asked Arthas 'I couldn't care less about that.'  
'Maybe not now.' said the Prophet in resignation. 'But you will.'

The choice was made. And that which the Prophet feared was now ahead of him.

* * *

Three days late, near the edge of the barrens, the circle of power had been drawn, and now the three allies stood in a triangle around it. It was a somber scene, as each one remembered those now lost to them. What could have been, what did not happen. Each one remembered their tragedies, recent and faraway. Finally Cairne spoke:  
'If the prophet was correct,' he said 'then the Warsong Encampment lies just over the ridge. We should ready ourselves for battle.'  
'I know Cairne,' said Thrall 'its just I didn't think this day would come for a few more years is all.' He had been expecting to have to defeat Hellscream eventually, or at least part of the Horde. Sooner or later they would have wanted to go back to the old ways.  
'Just remember Thrall,' said Jaina 'with the Soul Gem I gave you you can capture your friend Hellscream's spirit without hurting him. But you need to bring it back to my base immediately so we can free Grom from the demons control.'  
Jaina had been the only reason they had been able to get this far without fighting the whole way. Her negotiations had allowed the Alliance and Horde to traverse many miles without conflict. 'I… appreciate your help, Ms Proudmoore.' said Thrall at last. 'Without your shrewd negotiations we never would have got this far without battle.'  
'I never thought I'd see this day,' she reflected 'I'll return to my forces and aid you as best I can. Good luck… gentlemen.' Then she moved away.  
There was a mournful silence then between them. Cairne looked to Thrall sadly. 'The spirits rage around you, young Warchief. They sense your resignation. Your grief.'  
They began to make their way from the circle of power, back to their forces across the dusty plains. The sky above was blue, but darkening with unnatural clouds, as if foreshadowing some terrible storm. Thrall remained silent as they walked, looking over the lands which would soon be stained with blood. How much blood had been spilled already without need? How much more blood would be spilled before the warmongers of this world were satisfied? 'It doesn't matter, Cairne. Maybe it never did. Hellscream and his clan have fallen under the demons influence. But even if I save him it doesn't change a thing. We are all of us damned for all time.'  
They reached the village where the Horde had made its camp, and prepared for battle.

* * *

They came to a dark pass, of black stone, with many crags and great boulders blocking their view. The ground itself seemed infused with unholy magic, and Arthas sensed a terrible power somewhere around him. He reigned in his horse, as the Prophet landed in bird form, becoming once more a man, and beckoning with his staff.  
'Mannaroth lies within, Death Knight.' stated the Prophet. 'Do what you have come here to do.'  
'I will.' stated Arthas, before urging his horse forward.  
He made his way down the slope, into the crags and walked among them while keeping to the shadows. He could see or hear no sign of Mannaroth, yet his sixth sense was acting out of control. More than anything he desired to turn tail and flee, and the whispers of Frostmourne came to him now in full force.  
 _'Give up this quest! Obey!'_ said the Lich Kings voice in his mind.  
Horrific pain shot through Arthas as he reeled, nearly falling from his steed. Yet he mustered himself, and pressed on, scanning the shadows. The cliffs grew higher around him, so that all light was blocked on either side of him. Only a narrow avenue above showed the darkening sky.  
 _'The time for retribution is not now! Return to your vigil!'_  
The pain was worse this time, and Arthas cried out in pain, the sound echoing as he fell from Invincible. Undead though it was, the horse neighed in fear and rode away fearfully, choosing one master over the other. Arthas watched it go, and as he rose every fiber of his being told him to return from whence he came. His master had commanded it.  
Yet then he reflected that Grom Hellscream was in much the same situation he was. If Arthas slew Mannaroth, he would be freeing him from the Legions control. Even so, he found he could not take another step forward. And suddenly Arthas realized that he too was under another's control. And so long as it remained his Master, he could not continue.  
 _ **YOU WILL OBEY ME! LEAVE THIS PLACE AND NEVER RETURN!'**_  
'…I have fought your battles for you.' said Arthas in a low tone. 'I have travelled the length and breadth of the lands in your name. For your sake, I have lost everything I cared about, and ground what remained into dust. The blood of my father, of my people, is on my hands.' A rising fury was in his tone. The whispers of Frostmourne became louder and louder.  
 _ **'YOU ARE MINE TO COMMAND!'**_ Yet he perceived a note of panic in the Lich King's tone.  
'I gave myself to you on the condition that you help me save my people.' said Arthas, voice rising in tone. 'You made me destroy them. I consider this a breach of contract.' The whispers rose to a climax of snarling cries. 'You have no power over me.'

* * *

'You have no power over me.'  
And with those words, from his spire far to the north in Northrend, the Lich King was shaken. From all his strategies and schemes his mind shook free as he set all his thought and power on the reclamation of his champion. Yet the mind of Arthas was now beyond his sight, Frostmourne was beyond his grasp. The very sword he had thrust from the Icecrown Glacier itself had been torn from him.  
His wrath burned, darkening the ice in which his skeleton remained, and the clouds swirled above his throne in an unnatural tempest. His mind scanned over his plans, and desperately sought a replacement. Only now did he realize the trap into which he had fallen, for he could no longer control his champion. Yet his champions actions would still reflect upon him.  
Whether Mannaroth or Arthas were slain, it hardly mattered. He was shut out. He could only observe the machinations of his enemies, and play along to whatever tune they set.

'You have no power over me.'  
The words echoed throughout the scourge, and countless Acolytes felt a sudden and terrible despair fall over them, though they could not know why. Yet Kel'thuzad knew why. And he discerned some part of his Masters mind. And through him, he discerned his friends motive.  
Revenge.  
It was ironic. The very tool which had gained the scourge its greatest champion had now been turned against them. By breaking with the Legion now, Arthas was implicating the entire scourge. Whether he won or lost, the Demons would surely destroy the Lich King and all his ranking officials. The core of the scourge would be left intact as shock troops. Yet the scourge would become little more than leaderless pawns to be used and disposed of by the Demons.  
Kel'thuzad kept telling himself that it wasn't possible. That Arthas, the brilliant general who had been the greatest hope of the scourge, been his emfriend/em, could not have betrayed them so. He had been meant to be so much more.  
It was at this moment that Kel'thuzad suddenly understood his enemies more than his friend. 'I see.' he said 'This feeling… this is what Uther felt.'  
There was still a chance for the scourge to avoid the fate of Old Lordaeron. If the Dreadlords were not keeping a careful watch upon Mannaroth, Arthas might kill the Pit Lord with no witnesses. From there they could blame it on the orcs. It was a slight hope, but it was something.

* * *

And just like that that the whispers stopped. Just like that, Arthas was… free. He brought up Frostmourne to his eye level, and saw that it was gleaming mercilessly. 'Also, I'm keeping the sword.' he said with a faint smile.  
Then he rode onwards, until at last he came within sight of Mannaroth. The creature stood like a Centaur, massive and green, with a gigantic double bladed weapon held in one hand. The pit lord looked at him curiously as he walked out into the light.  
'This is unexpected,' said Mannaroth in an amused tone. 'I did not think Tichondrius bold enough to try and remove me directly. Or are you here on your own?'  
Arthas made his way forward, throwing back his black cloak as his white hair flowed around him in an errant breeze. Frostmourne hungered. 'The fell corruptions are quite a convenient tool, aren't they Pit Lord?' he asked 'You sit idly by, while others do all the fighting for you. And if they fail, you need only corrupt another to take their place. Yet in the end, you demons are just arrogant cowards.'  
Mannaroth smiled. 'If you have come to provoke me to battle, then you have succeeded.'  
Then bringing around his weapon he struck the ground. The rumor of the strike shook the walls of the pass, as small stones fell from on high, and a shockwave hurtled across the ground. Arthas leaped aside, narrowly avoiding it while having his footing disturbed. Even as he righted himself, Mannaroth came charging at him with a battle roar that reached to the heavens. His weapon came down, and nearly cut Arthas in half at the waist! It was all he could do to block it with Frostmourne, and the force of it send him hurtling back to crash against the wall.  
Falling down, Arthas rose to his feet unsteadily only to fall to one knee, gasping for air. Mannaroth laughed. 'Is this it? Is this all you can muster, death knight?!'  
Raising Frostmourne, Arthas summoned all his power and sent a wave of darkness towards Mannaroth. The bolt struck the demon head on, and Mannaroth took several steps back, groaning in pain as the death coil tore through his body. Yet when it faded he was still standing. The demon spun his weapon, smile unfading.

'A worthy effort,' he said 'but futile!'  
'Rather like the second war.' reflected Arthas ruefully.  
He must have hit a sore spot, for Mannaroth roared and summoned a massive ball of green fire which he launched at Arthas, who brought Frostmourne around to meet it with all his power. There was a terrible trembling moment as he struggled to hold it back. Finally with a final heave he hurled it aside to explode into the cavern walls. A great landslide fell from above, and for a moment all sight was obscured as rocks fell upon them. Arthas quickly moved out of sight into the shadows so that when their vision cleared he was out of sight.  
Mannaroth stalked amongst the boulders, seeking him.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

...Did I just come up with a rational explanation for the Prophets gross irresponsibility? I didn't think that was possible.

Well here we are. To tell the truth, I didn't plan this change of events at all. It just kind of surprised me, and seemed a natural way to take things. By Demons be Driven is going to be a two parter, since it seemed to be going on a bit long. Next time we'll pick up with Thrall, Cairne and Jaina, and see where Arthas' battle with Mannaroth goes.  
I based part of the first part of the chapter off of the confrontation between John Sheriden and Kosh in Babylon 5. For those of you who don't know what Babylon 5 is, its one of the greatest science fiction series ever made. Check it out, its awesome.

Next time we'll see the results of Arthas' defiance, the outcome of his battle with Mannaroth, and what exactly happens with the Warsong Clan.


	11. By Demons be Driven Part 2

**Chapter Nine: By Demons Be Driven Part 2**

At once Thrall began summoning his warriors for battle. It would take many men to defeat the Warsong, and he reflected this would likely be the bloodiest battle yet. His mind kept searching for a way by which he might defeat Hellscream without destroying the Warsong Clan. Yet there did not seem to be one.

'You men,' he called to a group of peons 'begin establishing towers and walls to protect the camp. If the Warsong attacks, I want us to be ready for them.'

In the calm before the storm, Thrall began to scout the surrounding lands for himself, seeking the location of the Warsong clan. He wondered if perhaps he should put down this revolt with ruthless bloodlust. Surely that might set an example to the rest of the clans. Yet at the same time he didn't want to kill his own people, guilty though they were.

As he journeyed, he saw a fountain where he sensed the spirits restored health. Yet he saw many Centaurs guarding it. They had a village here, and so he would not be able to access it. The Centaurs had likely neither forgiven, nor forgotten the orcs treatment of them. As he and Cairne mad their way back, they took a different route and ran straight into a Warsong Encampment. Arrows were shot at them, while many warriors rushed them. They were wild-eyed, and their skin was red.

'You are the human's lapdog!' snarled the warrior 'We serve only the Legion now!'

Thrall and Cairne did not look back as they fled back to camp. There they found that more of their warriors had gathered. Thrall looked to Cairne. 'Cairne, I believe you I will have need of your warriors before long. Send messengers to the Tauren tribes, and ask them to send warriors to aid us.'

'As you wish, young warchief.' said Cairne.

Thrall then resumed scouting, this time alone. He made his way northwest, past the human village where Jaina Proudmoore and her forces were mustering. They were far smaller than those which had opposed the Horde, and Thrall knew why. The humans hated them for what they had done to them, and Jaina had been hard pressed to find anyone willing to work with them.

As he rode his wolf, he suddenly ran straight into a pack of Warsong Raiders. They charged at him, but he leaped over their mounts and fled up the hill. They pursued him as he came across another Fel Orc bastion, where the enemy rallied to face him, while arrows were shot down upon him. Thrall turned back, and outmaneuvered the raiders, before rushing back to the orc village. Even so, he took a slash to the brow, and nearly lost his head in the process.

As he reached the human village, and noted the wary glanced they gave him. His eyes met Ms Proudmoore, and he nodded to her, before heading back. As he rode, however, a Priest of the Light stepped forward and raised a hand. Thrall's hand went to his hammer, but he needn't have bothered. A soothing sense came over Thrall, and suddenly his wound was healed.

He rode back and met Cairne. 'I found one of the Warsong's villages.' said Thrall 'Whether we will avoid it, or burn it to the ground I have not yet decided.'

Cairne nodded. 'I have sent the messages, as you requested. Soon my braves will come to aid you in war. It is only a matter of time.'

'Good,' said Thrall 'I suspect we will need all the help we can get.' There was a pause. 'Where the hell is Grom?!' he snapped suddenly.

'What do you mean?' asked Cairne.

'This isn't like him.' said Thrall 'He knows we are here. Its been hours, and he has yet to make a move. Hellscream has just spent the past few weeks doing nothing but charging blindly on and killing things and now all he wants to do is stay his hand? We should have been hard pressed by now.'

'Perhaps he is reluctant to give battle,' said Cairne 'or perhaps he is waiting for reinforcements.'

'I hope it is not the latter.' said Thrall 'This will be a hard enough battle without more enemies to fight.'

All of a sudden there was a clamor from the west, and a warrior rushed up to him. 'Warchief, the humans have come under attack by the Warsong clan! Do we intervene?!'

'I'll deal with this personally,' said Thrall 'Cairne, stay here and defend the village.'

He rode onwards, and as he rode the sound of battle grew louder. Before long he found a vast host of Warsong clan warriors fighting against a formation of human infantry. Knights charged from the flanks, as heavy blows struck both sides. Priests stood behind the infantry, healing them as they fought on, yet the formation was wavering. Soon it became a melee.

Thrall raised his hammer and sent a bolt of lightning to tear through their ranks, even as Jaina Proudmoore unlashed a storm of ice upon the Warsong, slaying many. Beneath their combined might, the Warsong clan was turned back. Thrall halted there and looked to Proudmoore. 'Hellscream was not in this assault?'

'No,' said Jaina 'no he was not.'

'This is most unlike him.' said Thrall 'Hellscream always leads his men from the front, damn the consequences. Keep a look out, I think this is only the beginning.'

His words were then made prophetic, for at that moment the suns light turned red, while unholy clouds gathered overhead. Great spheres of flame hurtled down from the sky, as Jaina looked up in shock. 'Thrall the skies are burning!' she cried.

'This is no natural storm!' said Thrall 'Everyone, brace yourselves!'

As he spoke the balls of flame hit the ground, burning and cracking the ground as shambling beasts of rock and fire made themselves known. The ground shook beneath the rumor of their feet as they lumbered down upon the Alliance and Horde in great numbers. At the same moment, the Warsong Clan made their offensive. Battle was joined!

'Fight on my warriors!' cried Thrall, using a spell to echo across the lands. 'We must reach Hellscream before its too late!'

The massive infernals met Cairne's forces in battle, supported by the Warsong. Even as Thrall rode to meet them, he saw more of the creatures descending upon the humans. Judging that Cairne could take care of himself, he turned and rode back to aid the humans. Yet before he could reach them, the beasts had been destroyed. Despite himself, Thrall was impressed. He turned back once more to ride to Cairne.

When he returned, he found that many of Cairne's people had arrived to support the assault. The tauren were even now assembling for war. He rode up to Cairne and found that the ruins of many infernals lay destroyed around them. Bringing his wolf to a halt, he petted the creature behind the ears and dismounted.

'Cairne,' he said 'there is a Warsong Outpost just north of here. I mean to destroy it.'

Cairne looked at him. 'This seems most, unlike you Warchief, in the past, you have always sought to avoid killing without need.'

'This isn't about mercy anymore, it's about discipline.' stated Thrall 'Grom Hellscream has embraced the demonic heritage of old, and the Warsong followed him. They will pay the price for this betrayal, and the memory of what happened to them will prevent a repeat.'

Cairne looked at him in concern. 'Very well, young Warchief. Where you lead, I will follow.'

Thrall led his forces north in great numbers, and as that happened the ground shook as a new wave of infernals assaulted the human camp. Yet the humans fought valiantly and kept the beasts at bay with great strength. Then Thrall fell upon the encampment he had seen before with fury, sending a bolt of lightning into the midsts of the garrison to slay many.

The Warsong guards fought with valor and savagery. Demonic blood rushed through their veins, sending them into a frothing rage. Yet the Horde was greater in number, and surrounded them and cut them down without pity or mercy.

'Forward my warriors! Slay them all!' roared Thrall as he rode through the fray, and caved in the skull of a Kodo Rider. His warriors roared with enthusiasm and wrath as they met the Fel Orcs blow for blow. Thrall watched as the fray went back, and forth before the Warsong were driven in. The towers were torn down and set to the flame.

'I think I will build a village here later,' reflected Thrall to Cairne 'for now we have work to do. Back to camp! We'll make ready to assault the Warsong, and wipe out these traitors to the last man!'

Yet there was silence amongst the orcs. They looked upon the bodies of warriors they had known, fought alongside, been friends with. Now they were dead. They looked up, and Thrall realized that perhaps his mercy had rubbed off on them more than he expected. 'Warchief, these are our brothers in arms. Why must we side against our own people with these humans?'

'The Warsong has allied itself with the demons.' stated Thrall 'If they are allowed to get away with this, others will follow in their footsteps.' Yet it sounded weak, even to him.

'Warchief,' said the warrior 'you have always taught us that we must not strike without need, or we will become like we once were. Don't… don't the demons want us to kill each other without mercy or pity?'

Thrall found himself speechless for the first time in years. He strove to answer, tried to think of a way to get around that statement. Yet he could not. '…Perhaps you are right. Very well, we will try to defeat the Warsong without killing them.' He paused 'Head back to camp, I am going to have a look around.'

He parted ways and rode off on his own. As he did so, he found another fountain of health, yet this too was guarded by many centaurs, and so was no accessible. Continuing onwards, he saw the Warsong Encampment, and within it, he witnessed many cages where orcs and trolls were languishing. Obviously not all within the Warsong Clan had gone over to the demons side. As he did so, more fireballs fell from the sky to land near the Alliance and Horde lines. These too were driven away by the valor of orc and human standing side by side.

Thrall realized that though he had a sense of where Hellscream was, he did not know how to get there. He instead returned to camp and dismounted. 'Cairne, I leave you to organize the defense. I must commune with the spirits to find the right path. Call up more of your people, we will need them.

Thrall sat down crosslegged in the field and began to meditate. He allowed his consciousness to seep out into the surrounding lands, gazing over the length and breadth of events. He saw countless orcs and humans fighting to hold back the tide of the Warsongs assaults, and then he pushed out further, ignoring the strain it places on his mana reserves. He saw Hellscream, flanked by an honor guard of massive Doom Guards Thrall had seen the likeness of in old books. They towered perhaps ten feet high, with bulging red muscles and massive blades which could cleave a man in two.

He looked further down the path, and saw still more Doomguards, and after that Fel Hounds, who snarled and snapped. Beyond them down a path, he saw a great encampment of Warsong Orcs, who were preparing for war. Suddenly Thrall perceived that the humans had driven off yet another assault, and were now sending forces towards the orcs.

He arose, tired and rushed to Cairne. 'Cairne, the humans are moving to assault a Warsong encampment we must destroy to reach Hellscream. Take your forces and go coordinate with them, quickly. If we work together we will stand a greater chance of victory.'

'As you wish, young Warchief.'

Cairne and his forces marched away, while Thrall suddenly fell to one knee in exhaustion. A warrior went to his side. 'Warchief, are you alright?'

'I'm fine,' said Thrall 'just drained.'

A few minutes passed in which there was an odd sort of quiet. Then suddenly Cairne and his warriors came rushing round the bend, pursued by a vast host of Warsong Clan warriors. Thrall raised his hammer and rushed to aid them, as Cairne turned within arrow shot of the defenses and fought!

The Warsong Clan did not stay to fight. Instead, they turned and fled back to their defenses, satisfied that their enemies had been driven off. Cairne was wounded across the brow, and once he had been bandaged, Thrall approached him. 'What happened?'

'We were too late, young Warchief.' said Cairne 'By the time we reached the Warsong encampment the humans were nearly all dead. They caught us while we were scaling the hills, and we were beaten back. This has been a bitter day.'

Thrall sighed. 'Damn it, I knew I should have waited. No matter, next time we will attack more carefully.'

Once again, fire fell from the sky, and once again it was beaten back by the Alliance and Horde.

So things continued, with many sallies back and forth across the field. The combat lasted for endless days, raging too and fro as both sides spilled much of each other's blood. Thrall several times sent forces to assist the Alliance in their battles with the Warsong on the field. Despite himself, he found himself almost regretting pledging to only strike with need. If he had a free hand for destruction, this whole thing would be far easier. He now remembered the blood which Hellscream had shed, and reflected that the Alliance would likely want him dead.

It seemed the tauren shared his view, for in one battle they assist the Alliance in getting very close to one of the Warsong villages, even destroying its defenses and slaying many of its peons. It was obvious that Thrall would have to gain victory quickly, or risk exterminating the entire Warsong Clan.

Even as his forces returned, however, the infernals once again initiated an onslaught that pressed the few remaining defenders hard. The northern defenses were swept away, and only a few tauren and orcs remained behind to hold the line. After a terrible battle, Thrall returned and destroyed the beasts.

All seemed lost at that stage, and Thrall began to think that they would be swept away by the savagery of the Warsong. For they rallied, again and again, to try and overrun the defenses, and the skies themselves rained death upon them. Then hope flourished anew as a great force of Tauren arrived to aid them.

Calling them to him. Thrall led them north towards the Warsong encampment, for better or worse. They met a force of Warsong orcs en route, and after a terrible battle slew them all. For the Warsong Clan did not retreat or surrender, and fought to the last. Fortunately, the tauren did not have the same reluctance to kill that the orcs did. An irony which was not lost on Thrall.

They pressed forward and fell upon the lightly defended Warsong encampment on the ridge above. It was as if a terrible rage had fallen over the tauren, for they descended in wrath and overran the few defenders. Several towers shot arrows upon them from above, wounding several tauren. Thrall raised his hammer and summoned the spirits, A terrible earthquake shook the land beneath one of the towers and it fell down, crushing the archers upon it.

At that moment reinforcements arrived from elsewhere to aid the Warsong. Another vicious combat ensued, tauren against fel orc, shaman against warlock. Until at last it was destroyed. The tauren then fel upon the remaining orcs of the Warsong encampment and killed them all. A group of peons were struck down with totems as they fled, while their houses were put to the flame.

Watching the tauren in the midsts of wrath was breathtaking. He looked to Cairne as the dust settled. 'I've never seen your people so enraged before.'

'They sense the taint of unholy energies,' said Cairne 'and the spirits drive us to wrath.'

Without further words, Thrall led the tauren onwards and unleashed them. As the base of the hills, they beat down the defenses of the Warsong Clan and broke into their village. The fighting was fierce, ranging all over the hills and lasted nearly half a day. As blood ran in rivers, and countless on both sides, died, Thrall used his earthquakes to tear down their defenses. The Warsong clan, however, had clustered their burrows near them. As a result, many of those collapsed as well.

Thrall felt a certain guilt for the destruction he was reaping upon his own people. However, at the same time, he knew that he must make an example of them. Then looked from the hilltop, and saw the Alliance forces rallying. They were now taking the offensive against the Warsong Clan. It was quite possible that if events proceeded as they were, the Alliance would wipe out the other Warsong villages.

Thrall did not want that to happen. He had an opening to Grom, and now he seized it. 'I can sense the taint of the demons just up the hill.' he said to Cairne 'Come, my friends, let us call Hellscream to account for his actions.'

The Horde forces in this assault had consisted mostly of trolls and tauren. It was why there had been such massive slaughter, no reluctance to slay the Warsong. Now, however, they faced another opponent entirely, one that was the enemy of all. Racing up the hill, they met many doomguards and fel hounds in battle. The Doomguards swung their axes to meet the tauren totems head on and proved the stronger. Yet the troll witchdoctors set wards to heal wounds and restore the strength of their comrades, and Thrall shot lightning bolts that burned through many doom guards. The fel hounds fought with savagery, yet they too were driven in.

Victory near at hand, Thrall led his forces onwards, over the twisted and unholy ground, beneath a great arch. They saw many terrible obelisks, engraved with unholy runes, and Thrall felt the whispers of the demons everywhere. 'Hellscream has much to account for.' he said grimly.

Beneath a red arc of rock, they once again met the demons in battle. Infernals fell from the sky to aid the defenders, as Thrall and his warriors met the doom guards in battle. The lines were broken, and instead, the sides fought each other in a bloody melee. The doomguards fell, and coming to replace them were those Thrall recognized as Grom's personal guard.

Yet Grom had not come to aid them. He stood behind, sitting upon a dark throne watching the battle with amusement, rather than joining his warriors. Finally, all the orcs lay dead, and Thrall stepped forward personally, dismounting from his wolf and approaching. Two doomguards remained on either side of Grom, and Thrall approached.

'This civil war is over, Hellscream!' he said flatly 'Stand down before your clan is completely annihilated.'

'And where would you lead our people, boy?' asked Grom in sarcasm. 'How can you know the path when all you've done so far is blindly follow the orders of a human!' He stepped off his throne and spun his axe. 'Destiny is at hand! Lord Mannaroth is our master now!'

There was silence.

'Who?' asked Thrall after a moment. 'Nevermind, your ravings have no bearing on this situation.'

'Ah, Thrall, you always believed that the demons corrupted our race.' said Grom in an almost grandfatherly tone. 'But that's only half true. The other chieftains and I… we drank Mannaroth's blood, Thrall! We brought this curse upon ourselves!'

There was a long silence as Thrall closed his eyes and sighed. '…I know.'

'What?' said Grom 'How could you have-'

I'm not an idiot, Hellscream.' said Thrall in a calm tone. 'I might not have known the specifics, but every creature in this universe has the ability to make its own choices. We fall because we chose to fall. It doesn't matter who pulled the string because we are still responsible for our actions. No matter who drove us to them.'

An honorable orcish warrior would have fought Hellscream man to man. However, Thrall was not an honorable warrior. Instead he raised the gem, and cast a spell. There was a flash, and Hellscream's body fell limp to the ground before disappearing as he was captured. Thrall turned to Cairne. 'Cairne, finish off the demons and meet me back at camp.'

As the doomguards were torn apart behind him, Thrall rode through the barren and broken landscape mournfully. He slipped by a number of sleeping centaurs, and saw the vultures picking the flesh from the bones of many orcs and humans. Though he noted that far more orcs had fallen than humans, more than three times as many. It had been a gruesome combat for the Horde today.

Elsewhere the fighting was still going on. He could sense the skirmishes winding down as the realization dawned upon the Warsong that their leader was defeated. Even if Hellscream was freed of his corruption, would it even be possible to free them? Or would he have to exterminate an entire clan of his.

At last he reached the camp, and found a warsong offensive being driven off. The warsong had been reduced to throwing peons into the fray in a desperate attempt to slay them. It was swiftly destroyed, and Thrall was approached by a messenger.

'Warchief,' said the warrior 'the humans have destroyed a Warsong village to the east of here. Your orders?'

It seemed the humans were taking a chance for revenge. 'Just… let it go.' said Thrall 'We're just about done here anyway. Call my shamans to me, and send a message to the humans leader. We are ready to begin.'

The spectre of Hellscream stood bound in a circle designed for demons. Two priests of the holy light, and two shamans surrounded him, while Jaina and Thrall put their own magic to work unbinding the complicated weavings which kept him bound to the demons. It was tiring work, and took nearly an hour. Fortunately the Warsong Clan seemed to have given up the fight, and fallen back to defensive positions. A stalemate now existed between the two sides.

Finally Hellscream turned back to the way he had been, his red skin becoming green as his massive frame returned to its normal size. He fell to his knees before Thrall, as the Warchief stepped forward, concerned. 'Grom?'

'Thrall…' he said 'I see clearly now. The spectre was right… I'm… sorry.' From his voice, one would think it was the most difficult thing in the world to say. 'I'm so sorry.'

'Oh don't worry about it,' said Thrall in a casual tone. 'falling to the fel corruptions happens to the best of us these days.' Something about what he said seemed to make Jaina Proudmoore flinch, as if with some old memory and Thrall made a mental note to ask her about it later. For a moment Grom stared at Thrall, scarcely believing forgiveness was that easy. He was right.

Thrall struck him across the face with one hand, and Hellscream flinched, averting his eyes.

'YOU IDIOT!' roared Thrall skyward. 'I sent you to cut lumber! I'm actually still trying to figure out how you managed to turn that into a faustian pact with the demons?!'

'It wasn't my fault!' said Hellscream 'There were these night elves who attacked us because we were felling trees, and then they had a demigod Cenarius. None of our weapons could hurt him, I tried everything! But he was too cunning to fall into my trap and we were being overwhelmed!'

'Then why didn't you retreat?!' asked Thrall 'Surely one defeat on your record is worth not sending our people back into oblivion!'

'Well… there was a spectre who appeared before me before I drank the blood,' said Grom 'he said I should do just that. I refused because… because I was too proud to do otherwise. You are right Thrall, there is no excuse for what I've done. I… I offer my life in-'

'I refuse,' said Thrall 'taking your life won't bring the dead back. And I need you to help me save our people. We'll discuss this later.'

'…Mannaroth,' said Grom after a moment. 'we must face Mannaroth in the canyon.'

'Then lets go,' snapped Thrall 'I don't want to keep the bastard waiting. Proudmoore, keep an eye on the Warsong. Make sure they don't escape.' He paused. 'I'd appreciate it if you left as many alive as possible. We may need them once all this is over.'

'If you say so.' said Jaina, though she held no enthusiasm for it.

* * *

As the sunlight from above became tinted red, Arthas stalked Mannaroth from the shadows. The demon walked, his footfalls shaking the ground beneath him as he scanned the ravine for his enemy. Thus far he had not been able to detect him, and for that Arthas was thankful. He now realized that Mannaroth had not got his reputation for nothing, and though he had caught his breath he was reluctant to engage him head on again.

Arthas looked down to a locket worn around his neck. It had been around his neck from the very beginning, a keepsake from long ago. Yet for the life of him he could not remember what it contained. The memory simply wouldn't come.

'You cannot hide forever, Death Knight.' said Mannaroth, his voice seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere. Quite suddenly Arthas looked up, and realized that Mannaroth had disappeared. He looked around, and could not see him anywhere. 'For I too know something of stealth.'

Arthas moved quickly from where he was, listening for Mannaroth's footfalls. Yet they echoed off the cliffs, and went everywhere. The scent of brimstone was everywhere. 'I'm surprised, Mannaroth.' he said 'I didn't think someone of your size could disappear so easily.'

'When one lives as long as I, one learns more than method of war.' came back Mannaroth's voice. Arthas came to a corner, and saw a great shadow blotting out the light. 'Though I prefer open conflict, I am quite competent in other means of slaying my opponent.'

Arthas decided that the only way to win this battle was head on. If Mannaroth had his back to him, he might be able to get the drop on him. Otherwise he would figure it out as he went. He leaped round the corner, blade readied. His footfalls came to a halt, as he stopped. For the shadow had been cast by a great spire of rock.

Then out of the shadows behind him came Felhounds, snarling and drooling as they made for him. Arthas stepped aside from one, and beheaded it, then passed his sword through the throat of another as it lunged. As it fell, he drew out his blade and looked around. A shadow was suddenly cast over him.

'I see you, Death Knight!' came the voice behind him.

Arthas threw himself to the ground just in time to avoid being cut in half. He rolled over as Mannaroth's weapon was stabbed into the ground where he had been moments before. Then as he stood he stepped aside from a downwards slash that shook the earth and sent him stumbling back.

'Well…' said Mannaroth with a smile 'now I know you to be working alone.'

Despite himself, Arthas found a smile of bloodlust coming to his face. He was enjoying himself despite the gravity of the situation. 'And what makes you think that?'

'Tichondrius knows well the full measure of my power,' said Mannaroth, spinning his weapon round and planting it in the ground. 'he would not presume to slay me with one as weak as you. You may have one day ascended to my level, but you are not yet my equal.'

'The battle isn't over yet.' reflected Arthas as he took a stance.

'Oh but it is,' said Mannaroth 'tell me, did you truly think your attempt to dissuade Hellscream from drinking my blood would work?'

A chill went through Arthas. 'You knew about that?'

'Of course I knew,' said Mannaroth 'yet it was futile. His blood is as much mine, as your soul is the legions!'

He brought down his weapon and Arthas ran. A shockwave of flame surged out from the weapon in an explosion which tore through the ravine. Arthas leaped behind a corner and felt the heat tear past his face. His cloak blew around him as the explosion subsided, leaving trails of flame everywhere around him.

He heard the tramp of Mannaroth's feet and stepped away from the corner just as Mannaroth rounded it and slashed two feet into the rock where he had been moments ago. Withdrawing his weapon, a sheet of rock fell down as Arthas was driven back by Mannaroth's strikes. The air seemed to scream beneath the strokes of his enemies weapon, and Arthas soon found himself backed up against a wall. With nowhere else to go, he rushed forward, only to be impaled through the chest. Mannaroth lifted him skyward, and the pain was unimaginable. Then Mannaroth swung his weapon and tossed him away to crash into the ground some thirty feet away.

Arthas hit the ground in agony, the pain seeping through him as he bled. The locket fell from his neck and crashed upon the ground to fall open. And somehow that seemed worse than his injuries. Arthas let go of Frostmourne and hauled himself forward, leaving a trail of blood as he grasped the locket. It fell open and he saw what lay inside:

It was a picture of Jaina Proudmoore.

Suddenly Arthas became very calm. Calmer than he ever had in his entire life. He forced himself through the pain of his knitting wounds, and rose to take up Frostmourne once again with the last of his dwindling strength. Mannaroth charged at him, roaring to the heavens as he brought down what would be the killing blow. Yet it never reached him. A glow as bright as the sun surrounded him, and Mannaroth's weapon shattered against it.

The demon recoiled, shielding his eyes as the light grew brighter and brighter. 'A divine shield?! How is this-'

He had only one chance. With the last of his strength Arthas stepped forward, bringing round Frostmourne and passing Mannaroth by without a word. In an instant he was ten feet beyond him, blade bloodied. The light faded away within moments, leaving him gray and cold, yet it had been enough. Mannaroth looked to his side, where Frostmourne had sliced deep through an artery. The Pit Lord roared in pain, and defeat as his whole body glowed with fire. An orcish warrior would have stood tall and remained standing beneath the onslaught of fire.

Arthas Menethil ducked for cover behind a rock. It was probably the only reason he survived.

There was a moment of unyielding fire and rage, that burned his shoulders and singed his cloak, and then it passed away. For a moment Arthas lay there, as though he had been struck dead. He suddenly very cold, colder than he ever had in his life, as the red light above faded from the skies to be replaced with natural sunshine. Propping himself up on Frostmourne Arthas emerged from his hiding place, and saw that Mannaroth was dead, his body a charred husk scorched by hellfire. His weapon lay fallen from his grip.

For a moment the Prince remained silent, breathing as the whispers faded once and for all. The light now left him as quickly as it had come, and he stumbled as he walked and fell forward. Clawing at the ground, h collapsed into unconsciousness. Frostmourne hungered no more.

* * *

The battle for Lordaeron was ongoing. Other parts of the Alliance had sent forces to assist in their war, and the humans were making the Legion fight for every inch of space. Casualties had been far greater among the demons than anyone would have liked. Worse still, the scourge could not be relied upon to provide canon fodder. It was still being rebuilt, and their numbers had not yet become sufficient to do most of the work.

Thus a tense silence fell over the Legion as Tichondrius appeared in a blur of green smoke, and approached Archimond, feeling just a pang of fear. The blue demonlord waited as he approached, and Tichondrius fell to one knee in supplication. He had been observing events, and too late had learned of Arthas' treachery.

'Lord Archimond, there is a problem.' said Tichondrius, trying to keep the fear out of his tone.

'What is it, Dreadlord?' asked Archimond, in a voice which said he already knew.

'Mannaroth is dead.' said Tichondrius and Archimond looked up. 'It seems that the Lich King's Champion has moved against us. He ambushed Mannaroth and slew him as the Warsong were engaged in battle with the Alliance and Horde. As soon as I received the report, I tried to check in with Mal'ganis. However it seems that…' he tried to keep the fear from his tone. 'he is dead, along with all our loyalist forces in Northrend.' Of course Tichondrius had been aware of Mal'ganis disappearance, even encouraged it. He had not thought Ner'zhul brave enough to act against them.

'You disappoint me, Tichondrius.' stated Archimond in a cold tone, and Tichondrius felt suddenly very afraid. 'You assured me that Ner'zhul would not try to undermine our efforts. Now Mannaroth is dead because of your oversight.'

'I… I am sorry Lord Archimond,' said Tichondrius 'allow me the chance to correct my error. I will deal with the Lich King myself-'

'No!' snapped Archimond, raising one hand. 'I will contend with Ner'zhul personally. Understand this, Tichondrius, because you have been of great service to the Legion in the past I will allow you to live. However should you fail me again…' His tone spoke for him.

'I understand Lord Archimond,' said Tichondrius 'set me a task and I will accomplish it.'

'…For now,' said Archimond 'we should ensure there are no more loose ends. Take whatever forces you deem necessary and destroy the Lich who summoned me. He might prove to be a problem, should his loyalty to the Lich King be stronger than to us.'

'As you wish, Lord Archimond.' said Tichondrius.

Then was an echo of magical power and red flames arose to consume Archimond before he was gone from sight. Tichondrius arose from his kneel, and wiped a bit of sweat from his brow. He had never been nearer death than in that moment. Arthas would pay for this.

For now, however, Tichondrius had work to do.

* * *

Kel'thuzad realized that the end had come at once. The Lich King's grand design had been thwarted, and nothing he did could recall it at this stage. He had only a little time to live before his enemies closed in around him. Unfortunate, for he had wanted to live forever. An acolyte approached.

'Master,' he said 'the Dreadlords forces are approaching us? What are your orders?'

Some part of Kel'thuzad desired to summon all his forces for one mighty stand. To fight to the last moment for every scrap of life that remained to him. Yet that would only ensure his subordinates destruction, and they had been loyal to him until now. 'Surrender,' he said 'assure your loyalty to the Burning Legion and and tell them that I will meet them personally.'

'But master…'

'Do as I say.' said Kel'thuzad. 'Resistance is of no more use here.'

It was ending so quickly, and for what? Prince Arthas had turned against them, or at least disobeyed orders. Kel'thuzad stood in place, mulling over events and wondering where things had gone wrong. Had there been something he could have done to avert this? Some action he might have taken to avert his Prince's wrath. He did not know. At the end of his hopes, as the doors opened and Tichondrius entered Naxxarammas with the Dreadlords Balnazzar, Detheroc and Varimethras in tow, Kel'thuzad had time for one more act.

He chose to reach out to his friend.

* * *

He was in a sleep so deep and dark that he did not even know he was dreaming.

'Arthas…' said a voice in the darkness.

'Arthas…' it said again.

Arthas opened his eyes to see himself standing in a familiar scene. He stood upon the bridge where he had confront Uther, worn him down with ghouls and in one final battle slain. The waters were flowing under it, clear and cool, and the town behind him was whole again. He was whole again. His white hair had turned back to gold, his armor was once more that of a Paladin.

Unsure of himself he made his way on foot over the bridge. Yet it was not Uther which met him, but Kel'thuzad. The Lich was not as he appeared now, or even as he had when he was a necromancer. He stood clothed in violet robes, his black beard neatly trimmed and tinged with gray. Though Arthas had never seen him before his fall, he recognized him at once by his spirit. And he could not shake the feeling that his friend looked like Uther had.

'Kel'thuzad?' he asked 'What is this about?'

'I don't have much time, Arthas,' said the Lich 'I just wanted to say that I don't blame you.' he paused, looking at the hands before him. 'I admit I'm a bit disappointed but… when you get old you start looking for ways to live forever, I guess. We forced this on you. I have no right to complain. So I might as well face things with dignity.'

None of this made sense, and yet Arthas felt a terrible foreboding presence. He felt as though there was a battle going on, just beyond his perception. There was pain in the air, and fear. Kel'thuzad was afraid. 'Kel'thuzad, are you alight?'

'You did what you had to do.' said Kel'thuzad 'Don't blame yourself for what happened later…' Suddenly the world seemed to shift, and Kel'thuzad doubled over. Arthas stepped forward to catch him. His skin became pale and mottled with unholy magic, his beard turning ragged. 'I… I have to go now…'

'No, wait, don't leave.' said Arthas, gripping him by the arm.

'It's too late for me.' said Kel'thuzad, forcing himself back up. 'Tichondrius is closing in. I… I want you to know that I'm sorry. If you had chosen differently, I… I would have gladly called you King. I sincerely hope you find what you are looking for.'

Realization of what he had done dawned on Arthas. The Demons were killing him, he could hear the sounds of battle, sense their powers gradually wearing down Kel'thuzad through the countless intervening miles. 'No! Get out of there! Escape!' he cried 'I'm ordering you to escape!'

'No… it… it doesn't matter.' said Kel'thuzad 'Maybe it never mattered.' His true form, that of a lich, manifested itself in terrible power for a single moment, fading away. 'Farewell…'

'Kel'thuzad!' cried Arthas as he awoke with a start.

He was lying upon the barren rock, his wounds gradually healing. Frostmourne was dim in his hand, its silence speaking volumes. Once again, in the reckless pursuit of vengeance he had sacrificed a friend and betrayed his subjects.

The Prince of Lordaeron wept.

* * *

The Lich had not been easy prey. As his skull landed empty eyed upon the flagstones of Naxxaramas, Tichondrius looked at the wounds he had sustained. At the wounds they had all sustained. Such power had swirled around them, that Tichondrius had been driven back many times. Even at the end when his death was inevitable, he did not plead, or bargain. He simply fought on, accepting death with untold grace as he died.

Tichondrius' crushed the skull of the Lich where it lay, grinding it to dust, before turning to his brethren. 'Such is the fate of all who defy the legion.' he said finally.

'Strange that he accepted it so.' noted Balnazzar 'Its almost as though he valued the lives of these pitiful cultists.'

'It matters not,' said Varimethras 'the Lich is no more. Soon his master will follow.'

'The mortals mean nothing at this stage.' said Detheroc.

'He is right,' said Tichondrius 'the wayward orcs have served their purpose, and will be scourged from the world in due time. Events now proceed, regardless of the fate of Mannaroth. There will be no escape for Azeroth this time.'

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

HOLY EPIC PLOT TWIST BATMAN!

Sorry this chapter was so delayed. I was pulled away from my computer and was unable to access my save files. Then once I got started, I lost the mission and had to start all over again. Once again there is a certain inspiration in some of these scenes from Babylon 5. I won't say exactly what the scene is, because if I did I would be spoiling a major event in the plot of that great series.

You may have noticed I switched out Cenarius' character for Arthas in the main characters listing for this fanfic. The reason for this is that I had no idea how important Arthas would end up being for the story of this fanfic. He was originally just going to be a perspective character who acts as an informant for Tichondrius to pad out the fanfic. I only put Cenarius there in the first place because Grom Hellscream isn't a character you can list.

My biggest regret in the Mercyverse thus far is how I did Uther Lightbringer, and his death. At the time I wasn't so much establishing my own universe as recording a playthrough of Warcraft III. As a result I've always felt that his death feels somewhat unceremonious. Then again it was very unceremonious in the original game. Uther should have been the primary antagonist of the undead campaign, rather than an early boss battle.

By the way, the humans in this mission killed 47 enemies. The Horde killed one hundred and thirteen, and the Warsong Clan killed fifteen. Meanwhile the Burning Legion killed no one. Hardly an impressive showing for the Legion.

At any rate, there will be an epilogue to this story, unlike the last one.


	12. The Salvation of Hellscream

**Epilogue: The Salvation of Hellscream**

Archimond strode through the lands of Northrend, inspiring terror wherever he walked. Following him were his Doomguards and all that behold his onset fled in terror, thinking that Sageras himself had come. He passed over the mountains and highlands, and through the snows like a fel wind, heeding the Ice Trolls and Nerubians no more than one might a worm in the mud. Finally he came before Icecrown Glacier. The Lich King was not unprepared however, and had brought to his aid countless undead from the nearby regions to bar Archimond's path. The Demon Lord raised one hand, and summoned down countless infernals, as the Doom Guards rushed forward into battle.

The fray went back and forth, as Archimond marched through it, slaying those who stood in his way and leaving the rest to die in whatever way seemed best to them. He walked, his feet thundering throughout the snows, until he came to Icecrown Spire itself. There he stood before the Lich King, and loomed over the Frozen Throne, power radiating around him.

 ** _'_** ** _Pitiful, wretched creature!'_** snarled Archimond **_'Did you truly believe your treachery would go unnoticed?'_**

 _'_ _My champion acted against my orders,'_ pleaded the Lich King, voice pleading. _'he has betrayed me as well. I have not betrayed you!'_

 ** _'_** ** _Perhaps not,'_** admitted Archimond **_'however your usefulness to me has all but expired. If you cannot control your own subordinates, I see no reason why I should be lenient. Proceed, on your way to oblivion.'_**

Then reaching out with one hand, he gripped the spire. His power converged upon the Lich King, who for a moment resisted in terrible desperation, throwing everything he had into stopping him. Yet it was in vain, and the ice crack and shattered, as the spire collapsed down to the ground, before exploding into a brilliant display of light.

The Lich King died alone.

Archimond looked upon the remnants, watching for Ner'zhul's soul that he might recapture it and send it back into eternal torment. Yet it did not appear, and the spirit of the Lich King remained elusive. He pondered this for the moment, wondering where he had gone.

'No matter,' he said at last. 'I will find him sooner or later. The mutiny is finished.'

He turned back to where his Doomguards were finishing up. Many of them had fallen, to his irritation, for the undead had fought tooth and nail, with a zeal of power and the will of the Lich King behind them. Elsewhere in this continent, Archimond could sense the undead going berserk, no longer restraining themselves as they acted only out of a desire to destroy. Yet they were converging on his location.

He considered sending another Demon to take control here, yet it seemed that Northrend too had all but outlived its usefulness. He would let the undead run rampant, and then return to finish off the winner. For now, he had business in Kalimdor. The time had come to settle the score.

* * *

A brilliant green light of unholy flame illuminated the ravine, bursting through the night to be seen for mies around. They quickened their pace, and rushed to the source as it died down. Weapons readied, Thrall and Grom came round the bend and found Mannaroth's weapon lying shattered upon the ground. No sign of the demon could be seen around them.

'Where is he?' asked Thrall, looking around.

It was at that moment that a figure stepped out of the shadows. He looked almost a shadow himself. His hair was white, his skin was pale and his eyes were blue green and he wore black armor, and a long cloak which was scorched with fire. His breastplate was badly damaged, as though it had been run through, and in his hand was an evil looking sword, inlaid with a skull. He seemed vaguely familiar.

'You…' said Grom, recognition in his tone 'where is Mannaroth?! What is the meaning of this!'

'Mannaroth is dead,' said the man, voice dead. 'I have slain him.'

And somehow they knew it to be true, against all odds.

'It was you who warned me against drinking his blood.' realized Grom 'Who are you? What right have you to involve yourself in orcish matter?! Mannaroth's blood was ours by right.'

'Orcish matters?' asked the man, looking at Grom hard. 'Are you truly so self-centered. Your drinking of his blood set in motion the first and second wars. He is the architect of untold devastation inflicted upon the Alliance. Humanity has as much a right to his head as you. And anyway if you had listened to me to begin with, much meaningless bloodshed would have been avoided.'

Hellscream shut his mouth, and looked down at the ground thoughtfully. He had obviously not considered it in that light before now. For his part Thrall remembered his manners, recovering from the shock. This was the shadowy figure who had warned Hellscream then? 'If you have slain Mannaroth, then my people owe you a debt we can never repay. May I have your name, warrior?'

'I am Arthas Menethil, and we have met before.' stated Arthas, sheathing his sword.

'…You were the Prince who watched me do battle in Durnholme,' realized Thrall, old memories coming back to him. 'Jaina spoke of you before the Prophet. Your hair and skin are different, and you reek of unholy magic. What is the meaning behind all this?'

'The story is too long to go into now.' said Arthas 'I expect Jaina should be able to explain it to you if you ask. May I ask a favor of you, Warchief?'

'State it, and I will answer then.' said Thrall, wary of his request.

Arthas removed a locket from his neck and offered it to him. 'Give this to Jaina, tell her I believe she should have it back. Tell her that I am sorry. Just that, really. And don't do it in front of her men, make it a private meeting.'

Thrall took the locket in his hand. 'I will do as you ask.' he remained silent. 'You are obviously no friend of the Burning Legion. If you return to camp with us, you might speak such words to her yourself.'

'No, I'm afraid I'm past the point of no return.' said Arthas 'I am going to Ashenvale. That is where the Legion will strike next. Preparing for their attack was the entire reason Mannaroth spilled his blood in the first place. You should take your new allies there.'

'And what do you mean to accomplish on your own?' asked Grom, eyes narrowed.

'Revenge,' said Arthas 'its all I have left at this point.' At this time a skeletal horse road through the darkness and came to nuzzle Arthas' face. The death knight petted the undead creature, before hauling himself atop the creature. He looked to them. 'I am sorry for your troubles. Light protect you.'

Then he turned and road back into the darkness.

Silence fell over the two friends as the hoofbeats became distant and finally disappeared entirely. Finally Thrall spoke: 'Grom…'

'Yes, Warchief.' said Grom.

'I'm glad your back.'

'So am I, little brother.' said Grom.

And then, though they did not know why, they suddenly started laughing. They made their way back to camp in better spirits than they had in weeks, as though a weight they had not even been aware of had been lifted from their shoulders.

* * *

The locket had been given to Arthas, by Jaina during their courtship in Dalaran. It had happened so long ago, and so much had happened between then that Jaina had completely forgotten about it. Now it stood here, in her shaking hands again.

'He…' she began 'he said he was _sorry?'_ The sarcasm in her tone was bitter. 'Well I'm sorry to. Damn him! How could he… Leave me, I need to be alone Thrall.'

Thrall nodded, and wordlessly departed the tent. Jaina remained silent for some time, looking at the locket, before looking up to the mirror. Her hand moved almost of its own accord as she cast the locket into the mirror, which shattered into a thousand pieces as Jaina fell to her knees weeping uncontrollably.

Then, drying her tears, she forced herself up and picked her staff up. Straightening herself out, she made her way out of the tent and up a hill to look out over the battlefield. Even now the orcs and humans were busy clearing away the bodies. The sun was setting over the battlefield, bathing all the world in red light. A wind blew through her cloak, throwing off her hood and allowing her hair to flow through the air behind her as she mourned everything that had happened.

She sensed the Prophet before she saw him. He must have realized as much, because he halted a few feet behind her, waiting to be recognized. Jaina didn't give him a look, instead focusing on what lay ahead. Finally she lost patience. 'What did you have to do with this?'

'I… the Prince of Lordaeron had been tracking the orc Warchief on behalf of his demon masters.' said the Prophet. 'He approached me, and demanded I tell him where he could find Mannaroth. When I realized that the only way to sway him from confronting the demon was to kill him, I led him there.'

'Whats so important?' asked Jaina suddenly. 'Why were you so set on Hellscream being the one to kill Mannaroth?'

'Hellscream is special,' admitted the Prophet 'in almost every timeline whenever he confronts Mannaroth, both of them end up dead. Had Arthas confronted Mannaroth and been killed, it would have been disastrous.'

Jaina looked at him flatly. For a moment there was silence.

Finally the Prophet sighed. 'I feel I owe you an apology, Ms Proudmoore, for… many things, some of which have yet to happen.'

'What do you mean?' asked Jaina, voice wary.

'As you have already noted, I have not chosen the most efficient way to save this world from the flame.' said the Prophet 'In truth, I have chosen the safest way to ensure the Burning Legions downfall. Saving Azeroth is merely a… side benefit if you will.'

'Well I'm glad you've been so forthright with me until now.' said Jaina, dripping with sarcasm. 'I certainly wouldn't have wanted to know all this _before_ I fled to Kalimdor.'

'You don't understand!' said the Prophet, voice holding a note of desperation. 'No one does. You… I've seen things, that you have not imagined in your darkest nightmares. Ancient beasts rising from the depths of the earth to consume all that live. I've looked at alternate timelines where Archimond never set foot in Azeroth and its worse!'

'Worse?' asked Jaina 'How could it be worse?!'

'Because Azeroth is not the center of the universe.' said the Prophet. 'The Burning Legion has scorched countless worlds before this one, and if they are not stopped they will destroy countless more. I… if events proceed here as planned, the Burning Legion will be dealt a blow from which they will never recover.

It will be the beginning of the end for them. The battle waged here, if victorious, may save countless other worlds. Azeroth must suffer, so that the others may be saved.'

'Only one question,' said Jaina 'and I want an answer. If I had gone with him to Northrend, could I have stopped it?'

The Prophet remained silent. And in that moment more than anything he wanted to lie, to say that nothing she said or did could have averted his fall. At least it would help her peace of mind. '…Yes.' he said finally 'Your presence would have kept him stable enough to trust in his own forces, rather than dark powers. He would have killed Mal'ganis, and returned a hero. It would have delayed the inevitable by at least sixty years.

During that time Archimond would have burned three other worlds you've never even heard of. Billions consumed for the sake of one Kingdom.

I… I'm sorry.'

'Get out of my camp before I have you crucified.' stated Jaina in a soft tone.

The Prophet flinched, and transformed into a raven, before flying away into the distance. Jaina turned her attention then to Ashenvale, far in the distance, and there beheld a lone rider, clad in black with flowing white hair, heading into the darkness. The Alliance and Horde would follow soon enough.

For now she decided to take some rest, and mourn her losses later.

* * *

The Alliance and Horde mustered their forces and prepared for the great battle of their age. Though who would emerge the victory was anyones guess.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

This is the epilogue to Colonization of Kalimdor, and it naturally leads into the final campaign, Eternity's End. I've concluded that the best case which can be made for the Prophet is based around him picking the safest possible path, rather than the one which yields the best results. By that standard, events in this fanfic are less safe than the Prophet would have liked, they just happened to yield a positive result.

I'm not really sure what to put in here, other than how much I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to comment, and read this little series of mine. I particularly appreciate the efforts of Which Brew and Andtorismyname, whose endless feedback has worked to make this fic possible. Without you guys, I probably would have dropped this a long time ago.

See you guys next time!

Oh yeah, and the Lich King is dead. So much for Frozen Throne.


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